'<mft  '■ 


UNly 


."* 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •   SAN  DIFGO 

by 

FRIENDS  OF  HIE  LIBRARY 


Ward  L.    Thornton 

donor 


^'  ^"^n  ;kn 


'^/f/^. 


A 


,*..ti»  r=-^x 


<,!«** via •«»;    ^^ 


IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE 


TO  WHICH  IS  ADDED 


UNDER  THE  DEODARS  AND 
OTHER  TALES 


BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 


^ 


New  York 
MANHATTAN   PRESS 

474  West  Broadway 


CONTENTS 


PAOE 

Dedication 5 

Introduction g 

Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee 15 

The  Judgment  of  Dungara 31 

At  Howli  Thana 46 

Gemini  ....    - 55 

At  Twenty-Two 70 

In  Flood  Time 88 

The  Sending  of  Dana  Da 104 

On  the  City  Wall 121 


DEDICATION 


To  MY  MOFT  DEARE  Father, —  When  I 
was  in  your  Houfe  and  we  went  abroade 
together,  in  the  outfkirtes  of  the  Citie, 
among  the  Gentoo  Wreftlours,  you  had 
poynted  me  how  in  all  Empryzes  he  gooing 
forth  fiang  backe  alwaies  a  Word  to  hym 
that  had  infruct  hym  in  his  Crafte  to  the 
better  Sneckynge  of  a  Victorie  or  at  the 
leafte  the  auoidance  of  anie  greate  Defeate: 
And  prefentlie  each  man  wolde  run  to  his 
Vftad  (which  is  as  we  shoulde  fay  Mafter) 
and  geat  fuch  as  he  deferued  of  Admonefh- 
ment,  Reprouf  and  Council,  concernynge 
the  Gripp,  the  Houlde,  Crofs-buttock  and 
Fall,  and  then  lay  to  afrefhe. 

In  lyke  maner  I,  drawynge  back  a  lytel, 
from  this  my  Rabble  and  Encompafment 
of  Labour,  have  runn  afyde  to  you  who 
were  euer  my  Vftad  and  Speake  as  it  were 
in  your  priuie  Eare  [yet  that  others  may 
knowe]  that  if  I  have  here  done  aught  of 
Faire  Crafte  and  Reverentiall  it  is  come 
from  your  hande  as  trewly  [but  by  i.  De- 
gree remouen]  as  though  it  had  been  the 


6  Dedication 

coperture  of  thys  Booke  that  you  haue 
made  for  me  in  loue.  How  may  I  here 
tell  of  that  Tender  Diligence  which  in  my 
wauerynge  and  inconftante  viages  was  in 
all  tymes  about  me  to  showe  the  pafsions 
and  Occafions,  Shifts,  Humours,  and 
Sports  that  in  due  proporcion  combinate 
haue  bred  that  Rare  and  Terrible  Myftery 
the  which,  for  lacke  of  a  more  compleat 
Venderftandinge,  the  Worlde  has  cauled 
Man:  aswel  the  maner  in  which  you 
shoulde  goo  about  to  pourtraie  the  same, 
a  lytel  at  a  tyme  in  Feare  and  Decencie. 
By  what  hand,  when  I  wolde  have  dabbled 
a  Greene  and  unvefed  Pen  in  all  Earthe 
Heauen  and  Hell,  bicaufe  of  the  pitiful 
Confidence  of  Youthe,  was  I  bounde  in 
and  reftrict  to  wayte  tyl  I  coulde  in  fome 
fort  difcerne  from  the  Shadowe,  that  is  not 
by  any  peynes  to  be  toucht,  the  small  Ker- 
nel and  Subftance  that  mighte  conforme  to 
the  sclendernefs  of  my  Capacitie.  All  thys 
and  other  Council  (that,  though  I  dyd  then 
not  followe,  Tym.e  hath  since  fadlie  prouen 
trewe)  is  my  unpayable  Debt  to  you  (moft 
deare  Father)  and  for  marke  I  have  set 
afyde  for  you,  if  you  will  take  it,  thys  my 
thirde  Booke.  The  more  thys  and  no  other 
fenfe  it  is  of  common  knowledge  that  Men 
do  rather  efteem  a  Pebble  gathered  under 
the  Burnynge  Lyne  (or  anie  place  that  they 
haue  gone  farr  to  travel  in)  then  the  Pane- 


Dedication  7 

way  of  theyr  owne  Citie,  though  that  may 
be  the  better  wrought.  Your  Charitie  and 
the  large  Tendernefs  that  I  haue  nowhere 
founde  fenfe  I  liaue  gone  from  your  Houfe 
shall  look  upon  it  fauorably  and  ouerpafs 
the  Blemyfhes,  Spottes,  Foul  Crafte,  and 
Maculations  that  do  as  thoroughly  marke 
it  as  anie  Toil  of  Me.  Xone  the  lefs  it  is 
fett  prefomptuoufly  before  that  Wilde 
Beafte  the  Publick  which,  though  when 
aparte  and  one  by  one  examined  is  but 
compoft  of  such  meere  Men  and  Women 
as  you  in  theyr  outwarde  form  peynt  and 
I  would  fayne  peynt  in  theyr  inward  work- 
ynges,  yet  in  totalitie,  is  a  Great  and  thank- 
lefse  God  (like  unto  Dagon)  upon  whofe 
Altars  a  man  muft  offer  of  his  Befte  alone 
of  the  Prieftes  (which  they  caul  Reuiewers) 
pack  him  emptie  awai.  If  I  faile  in  thys 
Seruyce  you  shall  take  me  afyde  and  giue 
me  more  Inftruction,  which  is  but  the  olde 
Counfel  unreguarded  and  agayne  made 
playne :  As  our  Vftads  take  hym  whofe 
Nofe  is  rubben  in  the  dyrte  and  speak  in 
hys  Eare.  But  thys  I  knowe,  that  if  I  fail 
or  if  I  geat  my  Wage  from  the  God  afore- 
fayd;  and  thus  dance  perpetually  before 
that  Altar  till  He  be  wearyed,  the  Wildom 
that  made  in  my  Vfe,  when  I  vras  neere  to 
liften,  and  the  Sweep  and  Swing  temperate 
of  the  Pen  that,  when  I  was  afarr,  gaue  me 
alwaies  and  untyryng  the  most  delectable 


8  Dedication 

Tillage  of  that  Wifdom  shall  neuer  be  lack- 
ynge  to  me  in  Lyfe. 

And  though  I  am  more  rich  herein  than 
the  richeft,  my  prefent  Pouertie  can  but 
make  return  in  thys  lytel  Booke  which 
your  owne  Toil  has  nobilitated  beyon  the 
deferuynge  of  the  Writer  your  Son. 


INTRODUCTION 


BY  KADIR   BAKSH,   KHITMATGAR, 

Hazur, —  Through  your  favor  this  is  a 
book  written  by  my  sahib.  I  know  that 
he  wrote  it,  because  it  was  his  custom  to 
write  far  into  the  night;  I  greatly  desiring 
to  go  to  my  house.  But  there  was  no 
order;  therefore  it  was  my  fate  to  sit  with- 
out the  door  until  the  work  was  accom- 
plished. Then  came  I  and  made  shut  all 
the  papers  in  the  office-box,  and  these 
papers,  by  the  peculiar  operation  of  Time 
and  owing  to  the  skillful  manner  in  which 
I  picked  them  up  from  the  floor,  became 
such  a  book  as  you  now  see.  God  alone 
knows  what  is  written  therein,  for  I  am 
a  poor  man  and  the  sahib  is  my  father  and 
my  mother,  and  I  have  no  concern  with 
his  writings  until  he  has  left  his  table  and 
gone  to  bed. 

Nabi  Baksh,  clerk,  says  that  it  is  a  book 
about  the  black  men  —  common  people. 
This  is  a  manifest  lie,  for  by  what  road  can 
my  sahib  have  acquired  knowledge  of  the 


lo  Introduction 

common  people?  Have  I  not,  for  several 
years,  been  perpetually  with  the  sahib;  and 
throughout  that  time  have  I  not  stood  be- 
tween him  and  the  other  servants  who 
would  persecute  him  with  complaints  or 
vex  him  with  idle  tales  about  my  work? 
Did  I  not  smite  Dunnoo,  the  groom,  only 
yesterday  in  the  matter  of  the  badness  of 
the  harness-composition  which  I  had  pro- 
cured? I  am  the  head  of  the  sahib's  house- 
hold and  hold  his  purse.  Without  me  he 
does  not  know  where  are  his  rupees  or  his 
clean  collars.  So  great  is  my  power  over 
the  sahib  and  the  love  that  he  bears  to  me ! 
Have  I  ever  told  the  sahib  about  the  cus- 
toms of  servants  or  black  men?  Am  I  a 
fool?  I  have  said  '*  very  good  talk  "  upon 
all  occasions.  I  have  always  cut  smooth 
his  wristbands  with  scissors,  and  timely 
warned  him  of  the  passing  away  of  his 
tobacco  that  he  might  not  be  left  smoke- 
less upon  a  Sunday.  More  than  this  I  have 
not  done.  The  sahib  can  not  go  out  to 
dinner  lacking  my  aid.  How  then  should 
he  know  aught  that  I  did  not  tell  him? 
Certainly  Nabi  Baksh  is  a  liar. 

None  the  less  this  is  a  book,  and  the 
sahib  wrote  it,  for  his  name  is  in  it,  and  it 
is  not  his  washing-book.  Now,  such  is  the 
wisdom  of  the  sahib-log,  that,  upon  open- 
ing this  thing,  they  will  instantly  discover 
the  purport.     Yet  I  would  of  their  favor 


Introduction  1 1 

beg  them  to  observe  how  correct  is  the 
order  of  the  pages,  which  I  have  counted, 
from  the  first  to  the  last.  Thus,  One  is 
followed  by  Two  and  Two  by  Three,  and 
so  forward  to  the  end  of  the  book.  Even 
as  I  picked  the  pages  one  by  one  with 
great  trouble  from  the  floor,  when  the 
sahib  had  gone  to  bed,  so  have  they  been 
placed;  and  there  is  not  a  fault  in  the  whole 
account.  And  this  is  my  work.  It  was  a 
great  burden,  but  I  accomplished  it;  and 
if  the  sahib  gains  honor  by  that  which  he 
has  written  —  and  God  knows  what  he  is 
always  writing  about  —  I,  Kadir  Baksh,  his 
servant,  also  have  a  claim  to  honor. 


DRAY  WARA  YOW  DEE 


For  jealousy  is  the  rage  of  a  man;  therefore  he 
will  not  spare  it  the  day  of  vengeance. 

— Prov.  vii.  34. 

Almonds  and  raisins,  sahib?  Grapes 
from  Cabul?  Or  a  pony  of  the  rarest  if 
the  sahib  will  only  come  with  me.  He  is 
thirteen  three,  sahib,  plays  polo,  goes  in 
a  cart,  carries  a  lady  and  —  Holy  Kurshed 
and  the  Blessed  Imams,  it  is  the  sahib  him- 
self! My  heart  is  made  fat  and  my  eye 
glad.  May  you  never  be  tired!  As  is  cold 
water  in  the  Tirah,  so  is  the  sight  of  a 
friend  in  a  far  place.  And  what  do  you  in 
this  accursed  land?  South  of  Delhi,  sahib, 
you  know  the  saying  — "  Rats  are  the  men 
and  trulls  the  women."  It  was  an  order? 
Ahoo!  An  order  is  an  order  till  one  is 
strong  enough  to  disobey.  Oh,  my 
brother,  oh,  my  friend,  v/e  have  met  in  an 
auspicious  hour!  Is  all  well  in  the  heart 
and  the  body  and  the  house?  In  a  lucky 
day  have  we  two  come  together  again. 

I  am  to  go  with  you?     Your  favor  is 
great.     Will  there  be  picket-room   in  the 


1 6         In  Black  and  White 

compound?  I  have  three  horses  and  the 
bundles  and  the  horse-boy.  Moreover,  re- 
member that  the  poHce  here  hold  me  a 
horse-thief.  What  do  these  Lowland  bas- 
tards know  of  horse-thieves?  Do  you  re- 
member that  time  in  Peshawur  when 
Kamal  hammered  on  the  gates  of  Jumrud 
—  mountebank  that  he  was  —  and  lifted 
the  colonel's  horses  all  in  one  night? 
Kamal  is  dead  now,  but  his  nephew  has 
taken  up  the  matter,  and  there  will  be  more 
horses  a-missing  if  the  Khaiber  Levies  do 
not  look  to  it. 

The  peace  of  God  and  the  favor  of  his 
Prophet  be  upon  this  house  and  all  that  is 
in  it!  Shafiz-ullah,  rope  the  mottled  mare 
vm.der  the  tree  and  draw  water.  The 
horses  can  stand  in  the  sun,  but  double  the 
felts  over  the  loins.  Nay,  my  friend,  do 
not  trouble  to  look  them  over.  They  are 
to  sell  to  the  officer  fools  who  know  so 
many  things  of  the  horse.  The  mare  is 
heavy  in  foal;  the  gray  is  a  devil  unlicked; 
and  the  dun  —  but  you  know  the  trick  of 
the  peg.  When  they  are  sold  I  go  back 
to  Pubbi,  or,  it  may  be,  the  Valley  of 
Peshawur. 

Oh,  friend  of  my  heart,  it  is  good  to  see 
you  again.  I  have  been  bowing  and  lying 
all  day  to  the  oflficer-sahibs  in  respect  to 
those  horses;  and  my  mouth  is  dry  for 
straight    talk.     Auggrh!     Before    a    meal 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        ij 

tobacco  is  good.  Do  not  join  me,  for  we 
are  not  in  our  own  country.  Sit  in  the 
veranda  and  I  will  spread  my  cloth  here. 
But  first  I  will  drink.  In  the  name  of  God 
returning  thanks,  thrice!  This  is  sweet 
water,  indeed  —  sweet  as  the  water  of 
Sheoran  when  it  comes  from  the  snows. 

They  are  all  well  and  pleased  in  the 
North  —  Khoda  Baksh  and  the  others. 
Yar  Kham  has  come  down  with  the  horses 
from  Kurdistan — six-and-thirty  head  only, 
and  a  full  half  pack-ponies  —  and  has  said 
openly  in  the  Kashmir  Serai  that  you  Eng- 
lish should  send  guns  and  blow  the  Amir 
into  hell.  There  are  fifteen  tolls  now  on 
the  Kabul  road;  and  at  Dakka,  when  he 
thought  he  was  clear,  Yar  Khan  was 
stripped  of  all  his  Balkh  stallions  by  the 
governor!  This  is  a  great  injustice,  and 
Yar  Khan  is  hot  with  rage.  And  of  the 
others:  Mahbub  Ali  is  still  at  Pubbi,  writ- 
ing God  knows  what.  Tuglup  Khan  is  in 
jail  for  the  business  of  the  Kohat  Police 
Post.  Faiz  Beg  came  down  from  Ismail- 
ki-Dhera  with  a  Bokhariot  belt  for  thee, 
my  brother,  at  the  closing  of  the  year,  but 
none  knew  whither  thou  hadst  gone;  there 
was  no  news  left  behind.  The  cousins  have 
taken  a  new  run  near  Pakpattan  to  breed 
mules  for  the  government  carts,  and  there 
is  a  story  in  Bazar  of  a  priest.  Oho!  Such 
a  salt  tale!     Listen.     .     ,     . 


1 8         In  Black  and  White 

Sahib,  why  do  you  ask  that?  My  clothes 
are  fouled  because  of  the  dust  on  the  road. 
My  eyes  are  sad  because  of  the  glare  of  the 
sun.  My  feet  are  swollen  because  I  have 
washed  them  in  bitter  water,  and  my 
cheeks  are  hollow  because  the  food  here  is 
bad.  Fire  burn  your  money!  What  do  I 
want  with  it?  I  am  rich  and  I  thought 
you  were  my  friend;  but  you  are  like  the 
others  —  a  sahib.  Is  a  man  sad?  Give 
him  money,  say  the  sahibs.  Is  he  dishon- 
ored? Give  him  money,  say  the  sahibs. 
Hath  he  a  wrong  upon  his  head?  Give 
him  money,  say  the  sahibs.  Such  are  the 
sahibs,  and  such  art  thou  —  even  thou. 

Nay,  do  not  look  at  the  feet  of  the  dun. 
Pity  it  is  that  I  ever  taught  you  to  know 
the  legs  of  a  horse.  Foot-sore?  Be  it  so. 
What  of  that?  The  roads  are  hard.  And 
the  mare  foot-sore?  She  bears  a  double 
burden,  sahib. 

And  now  I  pray  you,  give  me  permission 
to  depart.  Great  favor  and  honor  has  the 
sahib  done  me,  and  graciously  has  he 
shown  his  belief  that  the  horses  are  stolen. 
Will  it  please  him  to  send  me  to  the  Thana? 
To  call  a  sweeper  and  have  me  led  away  by 
one  of  these  lizard-men?  I  am  the  sahib's 
friend.  I  have  drunk  water  in  the  shadow 
of  his  house,  and  he  has  blackened  my  face. 
Remains  there  anything  more  to  do? 
Will  the  sahib  give  me  eight  annas  to  make 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        19 

smooth    the    injury  —  and    complete    the 
insult?     .     .     . 

Forgive  me,  my  brother.  I  knew  not  — 
I  know  not  now  —  what  I  say.  Yes,  I  lied 
to  you!  I  will  put  dust  on  my  head  —  and 
I  am  an  Afridi!  The  horses  have  been 
marched  foot-sore  from  the  valley  to  this 
place,  and  my  eyes  are  dim,  my  body  aches 
for  the  want  of  sleep,  and  my  heart  is  dried 
up  with  sorrow  and  shame.  But,  as  it  was 
my  shame  so  by  God  the  Dispenser  of  Jus- 
tice—  by  Allah-al-Mumit,  it  shall  be  my 
own  revenge! 

We  have  spoken  together  with  naked 
hearts  before  this,  and  our  hands  have 
dipped  into  the  same  dish  and  thou  hast 
been  to  me  as  a  brother.  Therefore  I  pay 
thee  back  with  lies  and  ingratitude  —  as  a 
Pathan.  Listen  now!  When  the  grief  of 
the  soul  is  too  heavy  for  endurance  it  may 
be  a  little  eased  by  speech ;  and,  moreover, 
the  mind  of  a  true  man  is  as  a  well,  and 
the  pebble  of  confession  dropped  therein 
sinks  and  is  no  more  seen.  From  the  val- 
ley have  I  come  on  foot,  league  by  league 
with  a  fire  in  my  chest  like  the  fire  of  the 
Pit.  And  why?  Hast  thou,  then,  so 
quickly  forgotten  our  customs,  among  this 
folk  who  sell  their  wives  and  their  daugh- 
ters for  silver?  Come  back  with  me  to 
the  North  and  be  among  men  once  more. 
Come  back,   when  this   matter  is   accom- 


20         In  Black  and  White 

plished  and  I  call  for  thee!  The  bloom  of 
the  peach-orchards  is  upon  all  the  valley, 
and  here  is  only  dust  and  a  great  stink. 
There  is  a  pleasant  wind  among  the  mul- 
berry-trees, and  the  streams  are  bright 
with  snow-water,  and  the  caravans  go  up 
and  the  caravans  go  down,  and  a  hundred 
fires  sparkle  in  the  gut  of  the  pass,  and 
tent-peg  answers  hammer-nose,  and  pack- 
horse  squeals  to  pack-horse  across  the  drift 
smoke  of  the  evening.  It  is  good  in  the 
North  now.  Come  back  with  me.  Let  us 
return  to  our  own  people!     Come! 


Whence  is  my  sorrow?  Does  a  man  tear 
out  his  heart  and  make  fritters  thereof  over 
a  slow  fire  for  aught  other  than  a  woman? 
Do  not  laugh,  friend  of  mine,  for  your  tim.e 
will  also  be.  A  woman  of  the  Abazai  was 
she,  and  I  took  her  to  wife  to  stanch  the 
feud  between  our  village  and  the  men  of 
Ghor.  I  am  no  longer  young.  The  lime 
has  touched  my  beard.  True.  I  had  no 
need  of  the  wedding?  Nay,  but  I  loved 
her.  AMiat  saith  Rahman  — "  Into  whose 
heart  Love  enters,  there  is  Folly  and  naught 
€lse.  By  a  glance  of  the  eye  she  hath 
blinded  thee;  and  by  the  eyelids  and  the 
fringe  of  the  eyelids  taken  thee  into  the 
captivity  without  ransom,  and  naught  else." 
Dost    thou    remember    that    song    at    the 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        21 

sheep-roastmg  in  the  Pindi  camp  among 
the  Uzbegs  of  the  Amir? 

The  Abazai  are  dogs  and  their  women 
the  servants  of  sin.  There  was  a  lover  of 
her  own  people,  but  of  that  her  lather  told 
me  naught.  My  friend,  curse  for  me  in 
your  prayers,  as  I  curse  at  each  praying 
from  the  Fakr  to  the  Isha,  the  name  of 
Daoud  Shah,  Abazai,  whose  head  is  still 
upon  his  neck,  whose  hands  are  still  upon 
his  wrists,  who  has  done  me  dishonor,  who 
has  made  my  name  a  laughing-stock 
among  the  women  of  Little  Malikand. 

I  went  into  Hindoostan  at  the  end  of 
tv.-o  mionths  —  to  Cherat.  I  was  gone 
twelve  days  only;  but  I  had  said  that  I 
would  be  fifteen  days  absent.  This  I  did 
to  try  her,  for  it  is  written:  "Trust  not 
the  incapable.*'  Coming  up  the  gorge 
alone  in  the  falling  of  the  light,  I  heard  the 
voice  of  a  m.an  singing  at  the  door  of  my 
house;  and  it  was  the  voice  of  Daoud  Shah, 
and  the  song  that  he  sung  was  ''  Dray  wara 
yow  dee  " —  all  three  are  one.  It  was  as 
though  a  heel-rope  had  been  slipped 
round  mv  heart  and  all  the  devils  were 
drawing  it  tight  past  endurance.  I  crept 
silently  up  the  hill-road,  but  the  fuse  of 
my  match-lock  was  wetted  with  the  rain, 
and  I  could  not  slay  Daoud  Shah  from 
afar.  Moreover,  it  was  in  my  mind  to  kill 
the   woman  also.     Thus   he   sung,   sitting 


22         In  Black  and  White 

outside  my  house,  and,  anon,  the  woman 
opened  the  door,  and  I  came  nearer,  crawl- 
ing on  my  belly  among  the  rocks.  I  had 
only  my  knife  to  my  hand.  But  a  stone 
slipped  under  my  foot,  and  the  two  looked 
down  the  hill-side,  and  he,  leaving  his 
match-lock,  fled  from  my  anger,  because 
he  was  afraid  for  the  life  that  was  in  him. 
But  the  woman  moved  not  till  I  stood  in 
front  of  her,  crying:  ''  Oh,  woman,  what 
is  this  that  thou  hast  done? "  And  she, 
void  of  fear,  though  she  knew  my  thought, 
laughed,  saying:  "It  is  a  little  thing.  I 
loved  him,  and  thou  art  a  dog  and  cattle- 
thief  coming  by  night.  Strike!"  And  I, 
being  still  blinded  by  her  beauty,  for,  oh, 
my  friend,  the  women  of  the  Abazai  are 
very  fair,  said:  "Hast  thou  no  fear?" 
And  she  answered :  "  None  —  but  only 
the  fear  that  I  do  not  die."  Then  said  I: 
"  Have  no  fear."  And  she  bowed  her 
head,  and  I  smote  it  ofif  at  the  neck-bone 
so  that  it  leaped  between  my  feet.  There- 
after the  rage  of  our  people  came  upon  me, 
and  I  hacked  oflF  the  breasts,  that  the  men 
of  Little  Malikand  might  know  the  crime, 
and  cast  the  body  into  the  water-course 
that  flows  to  the  Kabul  River.  "  Dray 
wara  yow  dee !  Dray  wara  yow  dee ! " 
The  body  without  the  head,  the  soul  with- 
out light,  and  my  own  darkling  heart  — 
all  three  are  one  —  all  three  are  one! 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        23 

That  night,  making  no  halt,  I  went  to 
Ghor  and  demanded  news  of  Daoud  Shah. 
Men  said:  ''He  is  gone  to  Pubbi  for 
horses.  What  wouidst  thou  of  him? 
There  is  peace  between  the  villages."  I 
made  answer:  "  Ay!  The  peace  of  treach- 
ery and  the  love  that  the  Devil  Atala  bore 
to  Giirel."  And  I  fired  thrice  into  the  gate 
and  laughed  and  went  my  way. 

In  those  hours,  brother  and  friend  of 
my  heart's  heart,  the  moon  and  the  stars 
were  as  blood  above  me,  and  in  my  mouth 
was  the  taste  of  dry  earth.  Also,  I  broke 
no  bread,  and  my  drink  was  the  rain  of  the 
Valley  of  Ghor  upon  my  face. 

At  Pubbi  I  found  Mahbub  Ali,the  writer, 
sitting  upon  his  charpoy  and  gave  up  my 
arms  according  to  your  law.  But  I  was 
not  grieved,  for  it  was  in  my  heart  that  I 
should  kill  Daoud  Shah  with  my  bare 
hands  thus  —  as  a  man  strips  a  bunch  of 
raisins.  Mahbub  Ali  said:  "  Daoud  Shah 
has  even  now  gone  hot-foot  to  Peshawur, 
and  he  will  pick  up  his  horses  upon  the 
road  to  Delhi,  for  it  is  said  that  the  Bom- 
bay Tramway  Company  are  buying  horses 
there  by  the  truck-load ;  eight  horses  to  the 
truck."     And  that  was  a  true  saying. 

Then  I  saw  that  the  hunting  would  be 
no  little  thing,  for  the  man  was  gone  into 
your  borders  to  save  himself  against  my 
wrath.     And  shall  he  save  himself  so?   Am 


24         In  Black  and  White 

I  not  alive?  Though  he  run  northward  to 
the  Dora  and  the  snow,  or  southerly  to  the 
Black  Water,  I  will  follow  him,  as  a  lover 
follows  the  footsteps  of  his  mistress,  and 
coming  upon  him  I  will  take  him  tenderly 
—  Aho!  so  tenderly!  —  in  my  arms,  say- 
ing: "'  Well  hast  thou  done  and  well  shalt 
thou  be  repaid."  And  out  of  that  embrace 
Daoud  Shah  shall  not  go  forth  with  the 
breath  in  his  nostrils.  Auggrh!  Where  is 
the  pitcher?  I  am  as  thirsty  as  a  m.other- 
mare  in  the  first  month. 

Your  law!  What  is  your  law  to  me? 
When  the  horses  fight  on  the  runs  do  they 
regard  the  boundary  pillars;  or  do  the  kites 
of  Ali  Musjid  forbear  because  the  carrion 
lies  under  the  shadow  of  the  Ghor  Kuttri? 
The  matter  began  across  the  border.  It 
shall  finish  where  God  pleases.  Here,  in 
my  own  country,  or  in  hell.  All  three  are 
one. 

Listen  now,  sharer  of  the  sorrow  of  my 
heart,  and  I  will  tell  of  the  hunting.  I  fol- 
lowed to  Peshawur  from  Pubbi,  and  I  went 
to  and  fro  about  the  streets  of  Peshawur 
like  a  houseless  dog,  seeking  for  my  enemy. 
Once  I  thought  that  I  saw  him  washing 
his  mouth  in  the  conduit  in  the  big  square, 
but  when  I  came  up  he  was  gone.  It  may 
be  that  it  was  he,  and,  seeing  my  face,  he 
had  fxed. 

A  girl  of  the  bazaar  said  that  he  would 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        25 

go  to  Nowshera.  I  said:  *' Oh,  heart's 
heart,  does  Daoud  Shah  visit  thee?  "  and 
.^he  said:  "  Even  so."  I  said:  "  I  would 
fain  see  him,  for  we  be  friends  parted  for 
two  years.  Hide  me,  I  pray,  here  in  the 
shadow  of  the  window  shutter,  and  I  v/ill 
wait  for  his  coming."  And  the  girl  said: 
"  Oh,  Pathan,  look  into  my  eyes!  "  And  I 
turned,  leaning  upon  her  breast,  and  looked 
into  her  eyes,  swearing  that  I  spoke  the 
very  Truth  of  God.  But  she  answered: 
"  Never  friend  waited  friend  with  such 
eyes.  Lie  to  God  and  the  Prophet,  but  to 
a  woman  ye  can  not  lie.  Get  hence! 
There  shall  no  harm  befall  Daoud  Shah  by 
cause  of  me." 

I  would  have  strangled  that  girl  but  for 
the  fear  of  your  police;  and  thus  the  hunt- 
ing would  have  come  to  naught.  There- 
fore I  only  laughed  and  departed,  and  she 
leaned  over  the  window-bar  in  the  night 
and  mocked  me  down  the  street.  Her 
name  is  Jamun.  When  I  have  made  my 
account  with  the  man  I  will  return  to 
Peshawur  and  —  her  lovers  shall  desire  her 
no  more  for  her  beauty's  sake.  She  shall 
not  be  Tamun,  but  Ak,  the  cripple  among 
trees.     Ho!  Ho!     Ak  shall  she  be! 

At  Peshawur  I  bought  the  horses  and 
grapes,  and  the  almonds  and  dried  fruits, 
that  the  reason  of  my  wanderings  might  be 
open  to  the   government,   and  that  there 


26  In  Black  and  White 

might  be  no  hinderance  upon  the  road. 
But  when  I  came  to  Nowshera  he  was 
gone,  and  I  knew  not  where  to  go.  I 
stayed  one  day  at  Nowshera,  and  in  the 
night  a  voice  spoke  in  my  ear  as  I  slept 
among  the  horses.  All  night  it  flew  round 
my  head  and  would  not  cease  from  whis- 
pering. I  was  upon  my  belly,  sleeping  as 
the  devils  sleep,  and  it  may  have  been  that 
the  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  devil.  It  said: 
"  Go  south,  and  thou  shalt  come  upon 
Daoud  Shah."  Listen,  my  brother  and 
chiefest  among  friends  —  listen!  Is  the 
tale  a  long  one?  Think  how  it  was  long 
to  me.  I  have  trodden  every  league  of  the 
road  from  Pubbi  to  this  place;  and  from 
Nowshera  my  guide  was  only  the  voice  and 
the  lust  of  vengeance. 

To  the  Uttock  I  went,  but  that  was  no 
hinderance  to  me.  Ho!  Ho!  A  man 
may  turn  the  word  twice,  even  in  his 
trouble.  The  Uttock  was  no  utfock  (obsta- 
cle) to  me;  and  I  heard  the  voice  above  the 
noise  of  the  waters  beating  on  the  big  rock, 
saying:  "  Go  to  the  right.''  So  I  went  to 
Pindigheb,  and  in  those  days  niy  sleep  was 
taken  from  me  utterly,  and  the  head  of  the 
woman  of  the  Abazai  was  before  me  night 
and  day,  even  as  it  had  fallen  between  my 
feet.  ''  Dray  wara  yow  dee!  Dray  wara 
yow  dee!  "  Fire,  ashes,  and  my  couch, 
all  three  are  one  —  all  three  are  one! 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        27 

Now  I  was  far  from  the  winter  path  of 
the  dealers  who  had  gone  to  Sialkot  and 
so  south  by  the  rail  and  the  Big  Road  to 
the  line  of  cantonments;  but  there  was  a 
sahib  in  camp  at  Pindigheb  who  bought 
from  me  a  white  mare  at  a  good  price,  and 
told  me  that  one  Daoud  Shah  had  passed 
to  Shahpur  with  horses.     Then  I  saw  that 
the  warning  of  the  voice   was  true,   and 
made  swift  to  come  to  the  Salt  Hills.     The 
Jhelum  was  in  flood,  but  I  could  not  wait, 
and,   in  the  crossing,   a  bay   stallion  was 
washed  dow^n  and  drowned.     Herein  was 
God  hard  to  me  —  not  in  respect  of  the 
beast,  of  that  I  had  no  care  —  but  in  this 
snatching.     While   I   was   upon   the   right 
bank   urging   the   horses   into   the    water, 
Daoud    Shah    was    upon    the    left;    for  — 
Alghias!  Alghias!  —  the  hoofs  of  my  mare 
scattered  the  hot  ashes  of  his  fires  when 
we  came  up  the  hither  bank  in  the  light  of 
morning.     But  he  had  fled.     His  feet  were 
made  swift  by  the  terror  of  death.     And  I 
went  south  from  Shahpur  as  the  kite  flies. 
I  dared  not  turn  aside,  lest  I  should  miss 
my  vengeance  —  which  is  my  right.    From 
Shahpur   I   skirted   by  the   Jhelum,   for   I 
thought  that  he  would  avoid  the  Desert  of 
the  Rechna.     But,  presently,  at  Sahiwal,  I 
turned    away    upon    the    road    to    J  hang, 
Samundri,  and  Gugera,  till,  upon  a  night, 
the  mottled  mxare  breasted  the  fence  of  the 


28         In  Black  and  White 

rail  that  runs  to  ^Montgomery.  And  that 
place  was  Okara,  and  the  head  of  the 
woman  of  the  Abazai  lay  upon  the  sand 
between  my  feet. 

Thence  I  went  to  Fazllka,  and  they  said 
that  I  was  mad  to  bring  starved  horses 
there.  The  Voice  was  with  me,  and  I  was 
not  mad,,  but  only  wearied,  because  I  could 
not  find  Daoud  Shah.  It  was  written  that 
I  should  not  find  him  at  Rania  nor  Baha- 
durgah,  and  I  cam^e  into  Delhi  from  the 
west,  and  there  also  I  found  him  not.  My 
friend,  I  have  seen  many  strange  things  in 
my  wanderings.  I  have  seen  devils  rioting 
across  the  Rechna  as  the  stallions  riot  in 
spring.  I  have  heard  the  Djinns  calling 
to  each  other  from  holes  in  the  sand,  and 
I  have  seen  them  pass  before  my  face. 
There  are  no  devils,  say  the  sahibs?  They 
are  very  vrise,  but  they  do  not  know  all 
things  about  devils  or  —  horses.  Ho!  Ho! 
I  say  to  you  who  are  laughing  at  my  mis- 
ery, that  i  have  seen  the  devils  at  high  noon 
vrhooping  and  leaping  on  the  shoals  of  the 
Chenab.  And  was  I  afraid?  My  brother, 
when  the  desire  of  a  man  is  set  upon  one 
thing  alone,  he  fears  neither  God  nor  man 
nor  devil.  If  my  vengeance  failed,  I  would 
splinter  the  gates  of  paradise  with  the  butt 
of  my  gun,  or  I  would  cut  my  way  into 
hell  with  my  knife,  and  I  would  call  upon 
those  who  govern  there  for  the  body  of 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        29 

Daoud  Shah.     What  love  so  deep  as  hate? 

Do  not  speak.  I  know  the  thought  in 
your  heart.  Is  the  white  of  this  eye 
clouded?  How  dees  the  blood  beat  at  the 
wrist?  There  is  no  madness  in  my  flesh, 
but  only  the  vehemence  of  the  desire  that 
has  eaten  me  up.     Listen! 

South  of  Delhi  I  knew  not  the  country 
at  all.  Therefore  I  can  not  say  where  I 
went,  but  I  passed  through  many  cities.  I 
knew  only  that  it  was  laid  upon  me  to  go 
south.  When  the  horses  could  march  no 
more,  I  threw  myself  upon  the  earth,  and 
waited  till  the  day.  There  was  no  sleep 
with  me  in  that  journeying;  and  that  was 
a  heavy  burden.  Dost  thou  know,  brother 
of  mine,  the  evil  of  vv^akeiulness  that  can 
not  break  —  when  the  bones  are  sore  for 
lack  of  sleep,  and  the  skin  of  the  temples 
tvritches  with  weariness,  and  yet  —  there  is 
no  sleep  —  there  is  no  sleep?  ''  Drav  wara 
yowdee!  Dray  wara  yow  dee!  "  The  eye 
of  the  sun,  the  eye  of  the  moon,  and  my 
own  unrestful  eyes  —  all  three  are  one  — 
all  three  are  one! 

There  was  a  city  the  name  whereof  I 
have  forgotten,  and  there  the  Voice  called 
all  night.  That  was  ten  days  asfo.  It  has 
cheated  me  afresh. 

I  have  come  hither  from  a  place  called 
Hamirpur,  and,  behold,  it  is  my  fate  that  I 
should  meet  with  thee  to  my  comfort,  and 


30         In  Black  and  White 

the  increase  of  friendship.  This  is  a  good 
omen.  By  the  joy  of  looking  upon  thy 
face  the  weariness  has  gone  from  my  feet, 
and  the  sorrow  of  my  so  long  travel  is  for- 
gotten. Also  my  heart  is  peaceful;  for  I 
know  that  the  end  is  near. 

It  may  be  that  I  shall  find  Daoud  Shah 
in  this  city  going  northward,  since  a  Hill- 
man  will  ever  head  back  to  his  hills  when 
the  spring  warns.  And  shall  he  see  those 
hills  of  our  country?  Surely  I  shall  over- 
take him!  Surely  my  vengeance  is  safe! 
Surely  God  hath  him  in  the  hollow  of  His 
hand  against  my  claiming.  There  shall  no 
harm  befall  Daoud  Shah  till  I  come;  for  I 
would  fain  kill  him  quick  and  whole  with 
the  life  sticking  firm  in  his  body.  A  pome- 
granate is  sweetest  when  the  cloves  break 
away  unwilling  from  the  rind.  Let  it  be 
in  the  day-time,  that  I  may  see  his  face, 
and  my  delight  may  be  crowned. 

And  when  I  have  accomplished  the  mat- 
ter and  my  honor  is  made  clean,  I  shall  re- 
turn thanks  unto  God,  the  holder  of  the 
scale  of  the  law,  and  I  shall  sleep.  From 
the  night,  through  the  day,  and  into  the 
night  again  I  shall  sleep;  and  no  dream 
shall  trouble  me. 

And  now,  oh,  mv  brother,  the  tale  is  all 
told.     Ahi!    Ahi!  '  Alghias!    Ahi! 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUN- 
GARA 


They  tell  the  tale  even  now  among-  the 
^a/ groves  of  the  Berbulda  Hill,  and  for  cor- 
roboration point  to  the  roofless  and  win- 
dowless    mission-house.     The    great    God 
Dungara,  the  God  of  Things  as  They  Are 
most  terrible,  one-eyed,  bearing  the  red  ele- 
phant tusk,  did  it  all;  and  he  who  refuses 
to   believe   in   Dungara   will   assuredly   be 
smitten  by  the  madness  of  Yat  — the  mad- 
ness that  fell  upon  the  sons  and  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  Buria  Kol  when  they  turned 
aside  from  Dungara  and  put  on   clothes. 
^o  says  Athon  Daze,  who  is  High  Priest 
of  the  Shrine  and  Warden  of  the  Red  Ele- 
phant tusk.     But  if  you  ask  the  assistant 
collector  and  agent  in  charge  of  the  Buria 
Kol,  he  will  laugh  —  not  because  he  bears 
any  malice  against  missions,  but  because 
lie  himself  saw  the  vengeance  of  Dungara 
executed  upon  the  spiritual  children  of  the 
31 


32         In  Black  and  White 

Rev.  Justus  Krenk,  pastor  of  the  Turbingen 
j\Iission,  and  upon  Lotta,  his  virtuous  wife. 

Yet  if  ever  a  man  merited  good  treat- 
ment of  the  gods  it  was  the  Reverend  Jus- 
tus, one  time  of  Heidelberg,  who,  on  the 
faith  of  a  call,  went  into  the  wilderness  and 
took  the  blonde,  blue-eyed  Lotta  with  him. 
*'We  will  these  heathen  now  by  idolatrous 
practices  so  darkened  better  make,"  said 
Justus  in  the  early  days  of  his  career. 
"  Yes,"  he  added,  with  conviction,  "  they 
shall  be  good  and  shall  with  their  hands 
to  work  learn.  For  all  good  Christians 
m.ust  work."  And  upon  a  stipend  more 
modest  even  than  that  of  an  English  lay- 
reader,  Justus  Krenk  kept  house  beyond 
Kamala  and  the  gorge  of  Malair,  beyond 
the  Berbulda  River  close  to  the  foot  of  the 
blue  hill  of  Panth,  on  whose  summ.it  stands 
the  Temple  of  Dungara  —  in  the  heart  of 
the  country  of  the  Buria  Kol  —  the  naked, 
good-tempered,  timid,  shameless,  lazy 
Buria  Kol. 

Do  you  know  what  life  at  a  mission  out- 
post means?  Try  to  imagine  a  loneliness 
exceeding  that  of  the  smallest  station  to 
which  government  has  ever  sent  you  —  iso- 
lation that  weighs  upon  the  waking  eyelids 
and  drives  you  perforce  headlong  into  the 
labors  of  the  day.  There  is  no  post,  there 
is  no  one  of  your  own  color  to  speak  to, 
there  are  no  roads:  there  is,  indeed,  food 


The  Judgment  cf  Dungara    33 

to  keep  you  alive,  but  it  is  not  pleasant  to 
eat;  and  whatever  of  good  or  beauty  or 
interest  there  is  in  your  life,  must  come 
from  yourself  and  the  grace  that  may  be 
planted  in  you. 

In  the  morning,  with  a  patter  of  soft  feet, 
the  converts,  the  doubtful,  and  the  open 
scoffers,  troop  up  to  the  veranda.  You 
must  be  infinitely  kind  and  patient,  and,, 
above  all,  clear-sighted,  for  you  deal  with 
the  simplicity  of  childhood,  the  experience 
of  man,  and  the  subtlety  of  the  savage. 
Your  congregation  have  a  hundred  ma- 
terial wants  to  be  considered;  and  it  is  for 
you,  as  you  believe  in  your  personal  re- 
sponsibility to  your  Maker,  to  pick  out  of 
the  clamoring  crowd  any  grain  of  spiritu- 
ality that  may  lie  therein.  If  to  the  cure 
of  souls  you  add  that  of  bodies,  your  task 
will  be  all  the  more  difficult,  for  the  sick 
and  the  maimed  will  profess  any  and 
every  creed  for  the  sake  of  healing,  and  will 
laugh  at  you  because  you  are  simple 
enough  to  iDelieve  them. 

As  the  day  wears  and  the  impetus  of  the 
morning  dies  away,  there  will  come  upon 
you  an  overwhelming  sense  of  the  useless- 
ness  of  your  toil.  This  must  be  striven 
against,  and  the  only  spur  in  your  side  will 
be  the  belief  that  you  are  playing  against 
the  devil  for  the  living  soul.  It  is  a  great, 
a  joyous  belief;  but  he  who  can  hold  it  un- 


34         In  Black  and  White 

wavering  for  four-and-twenty  consecutive 
hours  must  be  blessed  with  an  abundantly 
strong  physique  and  equable  nerve. 

Ask  the  gray  heads  of  the  Bannockburn 
~\Iedical  Crusade  what  manner  of  life  their 
preachers  lead;  speak  to  the  Racine  Gospel 
Ag-ency,  those  lean  Americans  whose  boast 
is  that  they  go  where  no  Englishman  dare 
follow;  get  a  pastor  of  the  Tubingen  Mis- 
sion to  talk  of  his  experiences  —  if  you  can. 
You  will  be  referred  to  the  printed  reports, 
but  these  contain  no  mention  of  the  men 
who  have  lost  youth  and  health,  all  that  a 
man  may  lose  except  faith,  in  the  wilds; 
of  English  maidens  who  have  gone  forth 
and  died  in  the  fever-stricken  jungle  of  the 
Panth  Hills,  knowing  from  the  first  that 
death  was  almost  a  certainty.  Few  pastors 
will  tell  you  of  these  things  any  more  than 
they  will  speak  of  that  young  David  of  St. 
Bees,  who,  set  apart  for  the  Lord's  work, 
broke  down  in  the  utter  desolation,  and  re- 
turned half  distraught  to  the  head  mission 
crying:  "There  is  no  God,  but  I  have 
walked  with  the  devil!" 

The  reports  are  silent  here,  because  hero- 
ism, failure,  doubt,  despair  and  self-abnega- 
tion on  the  part  of  a  mere  cultured  white 
man  are  things  of  no  weight  as  compared 
to  the  saving  of  one  half-human  soul  from 
a  fantastic  faith  in  wood-spirits,  goblins  of 
the  rock,  and  river-fiends. 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    35 

And  Gallic,  the  assistant  collector  of  the 
country-side,  "  cared  for  none  of  these 
things."  He  had  been  long  in  the  district, 
and  the  Buria  Kol  loved  him  and  brought 
him  ofterings  of  speared  fish,  orchids  from 
the  dim  moist  heart  of  the  forests,  and  as 
much  game  as  he  could  eat.  In  return,  he 
gave  them  quinine,  and  with  Athon  Daze, 
the  high  priest,  controlled  their  simple 
policies. 

"  When  you  have  been  some  years  in  the 
country,"  said  Gallio  at  the  Krenks'  table, 
"  you  grow  to  find  one  creed  as  good  as 
another.  I'll  give  you  all  the  assistance  in 
my  power,  of  course,  but  don't  hurt  my 
Buria  Kol.  They  are  a  good  people  and 
they  trust  me." 

"  I  will  them  the  Word  of  the  Lord 
teach,"  said  Justus,  his  round  face  beaming 
with  enthusiasm,  "  and  I  will  assuredly 
to  their  prejudices  no  wrong  hastily  with- 
out thinking  make.  But,  oh,  my  friend, 
this  in  the  mind  impartiality-of-creed-judg- 
m.ent-belooking  is  very  bad." 

"Heigh-ho!"  said  Gallio,  "I  have  their 
bodies  and  the  district  to  see  to,  but  you 
can  try  what  you  can  do  for  their  souls. 
Only  don't  behave  as  your  predecessor  did, 
or  I'm  afraid  that  I  can't  guarantee  your 
life." 

"And  that?"  said  Lotta,  sturdily,  hand- 
ing him  a  cup  of  tea. 


lb         In  Black  ana  White 

"  He  went  up  to  the  Temple  of  Dungara 
—  to  be  sure  he  was  new  to  the  country  — 
and  began  hammering  old  Dungara  over 
the  head  with  an  umbrella;  so  the  Buria 
Kol  turned  out  and  hammered  him  rather 
savagely.     I  was  in  the  district,  and  he  sent 
a  runner  to  me  with  a  note,  saying:  '  Per- 
secuted for  the  Lord's   sake.     Send  wing 
of    regim.ent.'     The    nearest    troops    were 
about  two,  hundred  miles  off,  but  I  guessed 
what  he  had  been  doing.     I  rode  to  Panth 
and  talked  to  old  Athon  Daze  like  a  father, 
telling  him  that  a  m.an  of  his  wisdom  ought 
to  have  known  that  the  sahib  had  sunstroke 
and  was  mad.     You  never  saw  a  people 
more  sorry  in  your  life.    Athon  Daze  apolo- 
gized, sent  wood  and  milk  and  fowls  and 
all  sorts  of  things;  and  I  gave  five  rupees 
to  the  shrine  and  told  ]\Iacnamiara  that  he 
had  been  injudicious.     He  said  that  I  had 
bowed  down  in  the  House  of  Rimmon;  but 
if  he  had  only  just  gone  over  the  brow  of 
the  hill  and  insulted  Palin  Deo,  the  idol  of 
the  Suria  Kol,  he  would  have  been  impaled 
on  a  charred  bamiboo  long  before  I  could 
have  done  anything,  and  then  I  should  have 
had  to  have  hanged  some  of  the  poor  brutes. 
Be  gentle  with  them,  padri  —  but  I  don't 
think  you'll  do  much." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Justus,  "  but  my  blaster. 
We  will  with  the  little  children  begin. 
Many  of  them  will  be  sick  —  that  is  so. 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    37 

After  the  children  the  mothers;  and  then 
the  men.  But  I  would  greatly  that  you 
were  in  internal  sympathies  with  us  prefer." 

Gallio  departed  to  risk  his  life  in  mend- 
ing the  rotten  bamboo  bridges  of  his  peo- 
ple, in  killing  a  too-persistent  tiger  here  or 
there,  in  sleeping  out  in  the  reeking  jungle, 
or  in  tracking  the  Suria  Kol  raiders  who 
had  taken  a  few  heads  from  their  brethren 
of  the  Buria  clan.  A  knock-kneed,  sham- 
bling young  man  was  Gallio,  naturally  de- 
void of  creed  or  reverence,  with  a  longing 
for  absolute  power  which  his  undesirable 
district  gratified. 

"  No  one  wants  my  post,"  he  used  to 
say  grimly,  "  and  my  collector  only  pokes 
his  nose  in  when  he's  quite  certain  that 
there  is  no  fever.  I'm  monarch  of  all  I  sur- 
vey, and  Athon  Daze  is  m^y  viceroy." 

Because  Gallio  prided  himself  on  his  su- 
preme disregard  of  human  life  —  though  he 
never  extended  the  theory  beyond  his  own 
—  he  naturally  rode  forty  miles  to  the  mis- 
sion with  a  tiny  brown  baby  on  his  saddle- 
bow, 

*''  Here  is  something  for  you,  padri,"  said 
he.  '*  The  Kols  leave  their  surplus  children 
to  die.  Don't  see  why  they  shouldn't,  but 
you  may  rear  this  one.  I  picked  it  up  be- 
yond the  Berbulda  fork.  I've  a  notion  that 
the  mother  has  been  following  me  through 
the  woods  ever  since." 


38        In  Black  and  White 

"  It  is  the  first  of  the  fold,"  said  Justus, 
and  Lotta  caught  up  the  screaming  morsel 
to  her  bosom  and  hushed  it  craftily;  while, 
as  a  wolf  hangs  in  the  field,  iMa'tui,  who 
had  borne  it  and  in  accordance  with  the 
law  of  her  tribe  had  exposed  it  to  die, 
panted  wearily  and  foot-sore  in  the  bamboo 
brake,  watching  the  house  with  hungry 
mother-eyes.  What  should  the  omnipotent 
assistant  collector  do?  Would  the  little 
man  in  the  black  coat  eat  her  daughter  alive 
as  Athon  Daze  said  was  the  custom  of  ail 
men  in  black  coats? 

T^Iatui  waited  among  the  bamboos 
through  the  long  night;  and,  in  the  morn- 
ing, there  came  forth  a  fair  white  woman, 
the  like  of  whom  ]\Iatui  had  never  seen,  and 
in  her  arms  was  Matui's  daughter  c!ad  in 
spotless  raiment.  Lotta  knew  little  of  the 
tongue  of  the  Buria  Kol,  but  when  mother 
calls  to  mother,  speech  is  easy  to  under- 
stand. By  the  hands  stretched  timidly  to 
the  hem  of  her  gown,  by  the  passionate 
gutturals  and  the  longing  eyes,  Lotta  un- 
derstood with  whom  she  had  to  deal.  So 
]\Iatui  took  the  child  again  —  would  be  a 
servant,  even  a  slave,  to  this  wonderful 
white  woman,  for  her  own  tribe  would  rec- 
ognize her  no  more.  And  Lotta  wept  with 
her  exhaustively,  after  the  German  fashion, 
which  includes  much  blowing  of  the  nose. 

"  First  the  child,  then  the  mother,  and 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    39 

last  the  man,  and  to  the  glory  of  God  all," 
said  Justus  the  Hopeful.  And  the  man 
came,  with  a  bow  and  arrows,  very  angry 
indeed,  for  there  was  no  one  to  cook  for 
him. 

But  the  tale  of  the  mission  is  a  long  one, 
and  I  have  no  space  to  show  how  Justus, 
forgetful  of  his  injudicious  predecessor, 
grievously  smote  ^loto,  the  husband  of 
Matui,  for  his  brutality;  how  Moto  w^as 
startled,  but  being  released  from  the  fear 
of  instant  death,  took  heart  and  became  the 
faithful  ally  and  first  convert  of  Justus;  how 
the  little  gathering  grew,  to  the  huge  dis- 
gust of  Athon  Daze;  how  the  priest  of  the 
God  of  Things  as  They  Are  argued  subtlely 
with  the  priest  of  the  God  of  Things  as 
They  Should  Be,  and  was  worsted;  how 
the  dues  of  the  Temple  of  Dungara  fell 
away  in  fowls  and  fish  and  honey-comb; 
how  Lotta  lightened  the  curse  of  Eve 
among  the  women,  and  how  Justus  did  his 
best  to  introduce  the  curse  of  Adam;  how 
the  Buria  Kol  rebelled  at  this,  saying  that 
their  god  was  an  idle  god,  and  how  Justus 
partially  overcame  their  scruples  against 
work,  and  taught  them  that  the  black  earth 
was  rich  in  other  produce  than  pig-nuts 
only. 

All  these  things  belong  to  the  history  of 
many  months,  and  throughout  those 
months  the  white-haired  Athon  Daze  medi- 


40        In  Black  and  White 

tated  revenge  for  the  tribal  neglect  of  Dun- 
gara.  \Mth  savage  cunning  he  feigned 
friendship  toward  Justus,  even  hinting  at 
his  own  conversion;  but  to  the  congrega- 
tion of  Dungara  he  said,  darkly:  "They 
of  the  padri's  flock  ha\e  put  on  clothes  and 
worship  a  busy  God.  Therefore  Dungara 
will  afllict  them  grievously  till  they  throw 
themselves  howling  into  the  waters  of  the 
Berbulda."  At  night  the  Red  Elephant 
Tusk  boomed  and  groaned  among  the  hills, 
and  the  faithful  waked  and  said:  "The 
God  of  Things  as  They  Are  matures  re- 
venge against  the  backsliders.  Be  merci- 
ful, Dungara,  to  us  thy  children,  and  give 
us  all  their  crops!  " 

Late  in  the  cold  weather  the  collector 
and  his  wife  came  into  the  Buria  Kol 
country.  "  Go  and  look  at  Krenk's  mis- 
sion," said  Gallio.  "  He  is  doing  good 
work  in  his  own  way,  and  I  think  he'd  be 
pleased  if  you  opened  the  bamboo  chapel 
that  he  has  managed  to  run  up.  At  any 
rate,  you'll  see  a  civilized  Buria  Kol." 

Great  was  the  stir  in  the  mission.  "  Now 
he  and  the  gracious  lady  will  that  we  have 
done  good  work  with  their  own  eyes  see, 
and  —  yes  —  we  will  him  our  converts  in 
all  their  new  clothes  by  their  own  hands 
constructed  exhibit.  It  will  a  great  day  be 
—  for  the  Lord  always,"  said  Justus;  and 
Lotta  said  "  Amen." 


The  Judgment  of  Dungaia    41 

Justus  had,  in  his  quiet  way,  felt  jealous 
of  the  Basel  Weaving  Mission,  his  own 
converts  being  unhandy;  but  Athon  Daze 
had  latterly  induced  some  of  thern  to 
hackle  the  glossy  silky  fibers  of  a  plant  that 
grew  plenteously  on  the  Panth  Hill,  It 
yielded  a  cloth  white  and  smooth  alm.ost 
as  the  tappa  of  the  South  Seas,  and  that  day 
the  converts  were  to  wear  for  the  nrst  time 
clothes  made  therefrom..  Justus  was  proud 
of  his  work. 

"  They  shall  in  white  clothes  clothed  to 
meet  the  collector  and  his  well-born  lady 
com.e  down,  singing  '  Now  thank  we  all 
our  God.'  Then  he  will  the  chapel  open, 
and  —  yes  —  even  Gallio  to  believe  will  be- 
gin. Stand  so,  my  children,  two  by  two, 
and  —  Lotta,  why  do  they  thus  themselves 
scratch?  It  is  not  seemly  to  wriggle,  Xala, 
my  child.  The  collector  will  be  here  and 
be  pained." 

The  collector,  his  wife,  and  Gallio 
climbed  the  hill  to  the  mission  station. 
The  converts  were  drawn  up  in  two  lines, 
a  shining  band  nearly  forty  strong. 
**  Hah!  "  said  the  collector,  whose  acquisi- 
tive bent  of  mind  led  him  to  believe  that 
he  had  fostered  the  institution  from  the 
first. 

''Advancing,  I  see,  by  leaps  and 
bounds." 

Never  was  truer  word  spoken!    The  mis- 


42        In  Black  and  White 

sion  was  advancing  exactly  as  he  had  said 
—  at  first  by  Httle  hops  and  shuffles  of 
shame-faced  uneasiness,  but  soon  by  the 
leaps  of  fiy-stung  horses  and  the  bounds 
of  maddened  kangaroos.  From  the  hill  of 
Panth  the  Red  Elephant  Tusk  delivered  a 
dry  and  anguished  blare.  The  ranks  of  the 
converts  wavered,  broke  and  scattered  with 
yells  and  shrieks  of  pain,  while  Justus  and 
Lotta  stood  horror-stricken. 

"It  is  the  judgment  of  Dungara!'* 
shouted  a  voice.  "  I  burn!  I  burn!  To 
the  river  or  we  die!  " 

The  mob  wheeled  and  headed  for  the 
rocks  that  overhung  the  Berbulda,  wTith- 
ing,  stamping,  twisting  and  shedding  its 
garments  as  it  ran,  pursued  by  the  thunder 
of  the  trum-pet  of  Dungara.  Justus  and 
Lotta  fled  to  the  collector  almost  in  tears. 

"I  can  not  understand!  Yesterday," 
panted  Justus,  "  they  had  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments—  What  is  this?  Praise  the 
Lord  all  good  spirits  bv  land  or  bv  sea. 
Nala!     Oh,  shame!" 

With  a  bound  and  a  scream  there 
alighted  on  the  rocks  above  their  heads, 
Nala.  once  the  pride  of  the  mission,  a 
maiden  of  fourteen  summers,  good,  docile, 
and  virtuous  —  now  naked  as  the  dawn 
and  spitting  like  a  wild-cat. 

"  Was  if  for  this !  "  she  raved,  hurling 
her  petticoat  at  Justus ;  "  was  it  for  this  I 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    43 

left  my  people  and  Dungara  —  for  the  fires 
of  your  bad  place?  Blind  ape,  little  earth- 
worm, dried  fish  that  you  are,  you  said 
that  I  should  never  burn!  Oh,  Dungara, 
I  burn  now!  I  burn  now!  Have  mercy, 
God  of  Things  as  They  Are! '' 

She  turned  and  flung  herself  into  the 
Berbulda,  and  the  trumpet  of  Dungara  bel- 
lovv'ed  jubilantly.  The  last  of  the  converts 
of  the  Tubingen  Mission  had  put  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  of  rapid  river  between  herself 
and  her  teachers. 

*' Yesterday,"  gulped  Justus,  "she  taught 
in  the  schoof  A,  B,  C,  D.  Oh!  It  is  the 
work  of  Satan !  " 

But  Gallio  was  curiously  regarding  the 
maiden's  petticoat  where  it  had  fallen  at 
his  feet.  He  felt  its  texture,  drew  back  his 
shirt-sleeve  beyond  the  deep  tan  of  his 
hand  and  pressed  a  fold  of  the  cloth  against 
the  flesh.  A  blotch  of  angry  red  rose  on 
the  white  skin. 

''Ah!"  said  Gallio,  calmlv,  "I  thought 
so." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Justus. 

"  I  should  call  it  the  Shirt  of  Nessus, 
but —  Where  did  you  get  the  fiber  of  this 
cloth  from  ?  " 

"Athon  Daze,"  said  Justus.  "He 
showed  the  bovs  how  it  should  manufac- 
tured be." 

"The  old  fox!     Do  you  know  that  he 


44         I^  Black  and  V/hite 

has  given  you  the  Xilgiri  nettle  —  scor- 
pion—  Girardcnia  hctcrophylla — to  work 
up.  Xo  v;onder  they  squirmed!  Why,  it 
stings  even  when  they  make  bridge-ropes 
of  it,  unless  it's  soaked  for  six  weeks.  The 
cunning  brute!  It  would  take  about  half 
an  hour  to  burn  through  their  thick  hides, 
and  then  —  1  " 

Gallio  burst  into  laughter,  but  Lotta  was 
Vv'eeping  in  the  arms  of  the  collector's  wife, 
and  Justus  had  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

''  Girardcnia  hcicvjphyUa! ''  repeated  Gal- 
lio. "  Krenk,  why  didn't  you  tell  me?  I 
could  have  saved  you  this.  Woven  lire! 
Anybody  but  a  naked  Kol  would  have 
known  it,  and,  if  I'm  a  judge  of  their  ways, 
you'll  never  get  them  back." 

He  looked  across  the  river  to  where  the 
converts  were  still  vv^allowing  and  wailing 
in  the  shallows,  and  the  laughter  died  out 
of  his  eyes,  for  he  saw  that  the  Tubingen 
Mission  to  the  Buria  Kol  vvas  dead. 

Never  again,  though  they  hung  mourn- 
fully round  the  deserted  school  for  three 
months,  could  Lotta  or  Justus  coax  back 
even  the  miost  promising  of  their  flock. 
Xo!  The  end  of  conversion  w^as  the  fire 
of  the  bad  place  —  fire  that  ran  through 
the  limbs  and  gnawed  into  the  bones. 
Who  dare  a  second  time  tempt  the  anger 
of  Dungara?     Let  the  little  man  and  his 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    45 

wife  go  elsewhere.  The  Buria  Kol  would 
have  none  of  them.  An  unofficial  message 
to  Athon  Daze  that  if  a  hair  of  their  heads 
were  touched,  Athon  Daze  and  the  priests 
of  Dungara  v/ould  be  hanged  by  Gallio  at 
the  temple  shrine,  protected  Justus  and 
Lotta  from  the  stump  poisoned  arro'ws  of 
the  Buria  Kol,  but  neither  fish  nor  fowl, 
honey-comb,  salt  nor  young  pig  were 
brought  to  their  doors  any  more.  And, 
alas!  man  can  not  live  by  grace  alone  if 
meat  be  wanting. 

"Let  us  go,  mine  wife,"  said  Justus; 
'*  there  is  no  good  here,  and  the  Lord  has 
willed  that  some  other  m.an  shall  the  work 
take  —  in  good  time  —  in  His  own  good 
time.  We  will  go  away,  and  I  will  — ■  yes 
—  some  botany  bestudy." 

If  an}^  one  is  anxious  to  convert  .the 
Buria  Kol  afresh,  there  lies  at  least  the 
core  of  a  mission-house  under  the  hill  of 
Panth.  But  the  chapel  and  school  have 
long  since  fallen  back  into  jungle. 


AT  HOWLI  THANA 


His  own  shoe,  his  own  head. — Native  Proverb. 

As  A  messenger,  if  the  heart  of  the  Pres- 
ence be  moved  to  so  great  favor.  And  on 
six  rupees.  Yes,  sahib,  for  I  have  three 
little,  little  children,  whose  stomachs  are 
always  empty,  and  corn  is  now  but  twenty 
pounds  to  the  rupee.  I  will  make  so 
clever  a  messenger  that  you  shall  all  day 
long  be  pleased  with  me,  and,  at  the  end 
of  the  year,  bestow  a  turban.  I  know  all 
the  roads  of  the  station  and  many  other 
things.  Aha,  sahib!  I  am  clever.  Give 
me  service.  I  was  aforetime  in  the  police. 
A  bad  character?  Now  without  doubt  an 
enemy  has  told  his  tale.  Never  was  I  a 
scamp.  I  am  a  man  of  clean  heart,  and 
all  my  words  are  true.  They  knew  this 
when  I  was  in  the  police.  They  said: 
"  Afzal  Khan  is  a  true  speaker  in  whose 
words  men  may  trust."  I  am  a  Delhi 
Pathan,  sahib  —  all  Delhi  Pathans  are 
good  men.  You  have  seen  Delhi?  Yes, 
it  is  true  that  there  be  many  scamps  among 
46 


At  Hcwli  Thana  47 

the  Delhi  Pathans.  How  wise  is  the  sahib! 
Nothing  is  hid  from  his  eyes,  and  he  will 
make  me  his  messenger,  and  I  will  take  all 
his  notes  secretly  and  without  ostentation. 
Nay,  sahib,  God  is  my  witness  that  I  meant 
no  evil.  I  have  long  desired  to  serve  under 
a  true  sahib  —  a  virtuous  sahib.  Many 
young  sahibs  are  as  devils  unchained. 
With  these  sahibs  I  would  take  no  service 

—  not  though  all  the  stomachs  of  my  little 
children  were  crying  for  bread. 

Why  am  I  not  still  in  the  police?  I  will 
speak  true  talk.  An  evil  came  to  the 
Thana  —  to  Ram  Baksh,  the  Havildar,  and 
Maula  Baksh,  and  Juggut  Ram  and  Bhim 
Singh  and  Suruj  Bui.  Ram  Baksh  is  in 
the  jail  for  a  space,  and  so  also  is  Maula 
Baksh. 

It  was  at  the  Thana  of  Howli,  on  the 
road  that  leads  to  Gokral-Seetarun,  wherein 
are  many  dacoits.     W>  were  all  brave  men 

—  Rustums.  Wherefore  we  were  sent  to 
that  Thana  which  was  eight  miles  from  the 
next  Thana.  All  day  and  all  night  we 
watched  for  dacoits.  Why  does  the  sahib 
laugh?  Nay,  I  will  make  a  confession. 
The  dacoits  were  too  clever,  and,  seeing 
this,  we  made  no  further  trouble.  It  was 
in  the  hot  weather.  What  can  a  man  do 
in  the  hot  days?  Is  the  sahib  who  is  so 
strong  —  is  he,  even,  vigorous  in  that  hour? 
We  made  an  arrangement  with  the  dacoits 


48 


In  Black  and  White 


for  the  sake  of  peace.  That  was  the  work 
of  the  Havildar,  who  was  fat.  Ho!  ho! 
sahib,  he  is  now  getting  thin  in  the  jail 
among  the  carpets.  The  Havildar  said: 
''  Give  us  no  trouble,  and  we  will  give  you 
no  trouble.  At  the  end  of  the  reaping  send 
us  a  man  to  lead  before  the  judge,  a  man 
of  infirm  mind  against  whom  the 
trumped-up  case  will  break  down.  Thus 
we  shall  save  our  honor."  To  this  talk 
the  dacoits  agreed,  and  we  had  no  trouble 
at  the  Thana,  and  could  eat  melons  in 
peace,  sitting  upon  our  charpoys  all  day 
long.  Sweet  as  sugar-cane  are  the  melons 
of  Howli. 

Now,  there  was  an  assistant  com.mis- 
sioner  —  a  Stunt  Sahib,  in  that  district, 
called  Yunkum  Sahib.  Aha!  He  was 
hard  —  hard  even  as  is  the  sahib  who, 
without  doubt,  will  give  me  the  shadow  of 
his  protection.  Many  eyes  had  Yunkum 
Sahib,  and  moved  quickly  through  his  dis- 
trict. Men  called  him  The  Tiger  of 
Gokral-Seetarun,  because  he  would  arrive 
unannounced  and  make  his  kill,  and  before 
sunset,  vv^ould  be  giving  trouble  to  the 
Tehsildars  thirty  miles  away.  No  one 
knev/  the  comings  or  the  goings  of  Yun- 
kum Sahib.  He  had  no  camp,  and  when 
his  horse  was  weary  he  rode  upon  a  devil- 
carriage.  I  do  not  know  its  name,  but  the 
sahib  sat  in  the  midst  of  three  silver  wheels 


At  Howli  Thana  49 

that  made  no  creaking,  and  drove  them 
with  his  legs,  prancing  like  a  bean-fed 
horse  —  thus.  A  shadow  of  a  hawk  upon 
the  fields  v/as  not  more  without  noise  than 
the  devil-carriage  of  Yunkum  Sahib.  It 
Vv-as  here;  it  was  there;  it  was  gone;  and 
the  rapport  was  made,  and  there  was  trou- 
ble. Ask  the  Tehsildar  of  Rohestri  how 
the  hen-stealing  came  to  be  known,  sahib. 

It  fell  upon  a  night  that  vv'e  of  the  Thana 
slept  according  to  custom  upon  our  char- 
poys,  having  eaten  the  evening  meal  and 
drunk  tobacco.  \Vhen  we  awoke  in  the 
morning,  behold,  of  our  six  rifles  not  one 
rem.ained!  AlsO;  the  big  police-book  that 
was  in  the  Havildar's  charge  was  gone. 
Seeing  these  things,  we  were  very  much 
afraid,  thinking  on  our  parts  that  the 
dacoits,  regardless  of  honor,  had  come  by 
night,  and  put  us  to  shame.  Then  said 
Ram  Baksh,  the  Havildar:  "Be  silent! 
The  business  is  an  evil  business,  but  it  may 
yet  go  well.  Let  us  make  the  case  com- 
plete. Bring  a  kid  and  my  tulwar.  See 
you  not  now,  oh  fools?  A.  kick  for  a  horse, 
but  a  word  is  enough  for  a  man." 

We  of  the  Thana,  perceiving  quickly 
what  was  in  the  mind  of  Havildar.  and 
greatly  fearing  that  the  service  would  be 
lost,  made  haste  to  take  the  kid  into  the 
inner  room,  and  attended  to  the  words  of 
the    Havildar.     "  Twentv    dacoits    came," 


fo         In  Black  and  White 

said  the  Havildar,  and  we,  taking-  his 
words,  repeated  after  him  according  to  cus- 
tom. "  There  was  a  great  fight,"  said  the 
Havildar,  "  and  of  us  no  man  escaped  un- 
hurt. The  bars  of  the  window  were 
broken.  Suruj  Bui,  see  thou  to  that;  and, 
oh  men,  put  speed  into  your  work,  for  a 
runner  must  go  with  the  news  to  The  Tiger 
of  Gokral-Seetarun."  Thereon,  Suruj  Bui, 
leaning  with  his  shoulder,  brake  in  the  bars 
of  the  window,  and  I,  beating  her  with  a 
whip,  made  the  Havildar's  mare  skip 
among  the  melon-beds  till  they  were  much 
trodden  with  hoof-prints. 

These  things  being  made,  I  returned  to 
the  Thana,  and  the  goat  was  slain;  and 
certain  portions  of  the  walls  were  black- 
ened with  fire,  and  each  man  dipped  his 
clothes  a  little  into  the  blood  of  the  goat. 
Know,  oh,  sahib,  that  a  wound  made  by 
man   upon   his   own   body   can,   by   those 
skilled,  be  easily  discerned  from  a  wound 
wrought  by  another  man.     Therefore,  the 
Havildar,  taking  his  tulwar,  smote  one  of 
us  lightly  on  the  forearm  in  the  fat,  and 
another  on  the  leg,  and  a  third  on  the  back 
of  the  hand.     Thus  dealt  he  with  all  of  us 
till  the  blood  came;  and  Suruj  Bui,  more 
eager  than  the  others,  took  out  much  hair. 
Oh,  sahib,  never  was  so  perfect  an  arrange- 
ment.    Yea,  even  I  would  have  sworn  that 
the  Thana  had  been  treated  as   we   said. 


At  Howli  Thana  51 

There  was  smoke  and  breaking  and  blood 
and  trampled  earth. 

"  Ride  now,  Maula  Baksh,"  said  the 
Havildar,  "  to  the  house  of  the  Stunt  Sahib, 
and  carry  the  news  of  the  dacoity.  Do 
you  also,  oh,  Afzal  Khan,  run  there,  and 
take  heed  that  you  are  mired  with  sweat 
and  dust  on  your  in-coming.  The  blood 
will  be  dry  on  the  clothes.  I  will  stay  and 
send  a  straight  report  to  the  Dipty  Sahib, 
and  we  will  catch  certain  that  ye  know  of, 
villagers,  so  that  all  may  be  ready  against 
the  Dipty  Sahib's  arrival." 

Thus  Maula  Baksh  rode  and  I  ran  hang- 
ing on  the  stirrup,  and  together  we  came 
in  an  evil  plight  before  The  Tiger  of 
Gokral-Seetarun  in  the  Rohestri  tehsil. 
Our  tale  was  long  and  correct,  sahib,  for 
we  gave  even  the  names  of  the  dacoits  and 
the  issue  of  the  fight,  and  besought  him 
to  come.  But  The  Tiger  made  no  sign, 
and  only  smiled  after  the  manner  of  sahibs 
when  they  have  a  wickedness  in  their 
hearts.  "  Swear  ye  to  the  rapport?  "  said 
he,  and  we  said:  ''Thy  servants  swear. 
The  blood  of  the  fight  is  but  newly  dry 
upon  us.  Judge  thou  if  it  be  the  blood 
of  the  servants  of  the  Presence,  or  not." 
And  he  said:  "I  see.  Ye  have  done 
well."  But  he  did  not  call  for  his  horse  or 
his  devil-carriage,  and  scour  the  land  as 
was   his    custom.     He   said:     ''Rest   now 


52         In  Black  and  White 

and  eat  bread,  for  ye  be  wearied  rnen.  I 
will  wait  the  coming  of  the  Dipty  Sahib." 
Now,  it  is  the  order  that  the  Havildar 
of  the  Thana  should  send  a  straight  report 
of  all  dacoities  to  the  Dipty  Sahib.  At 
noon  came  he,  a  fat  man  and  an  old.  and 
overbearing  withal,  but  we  of  the  Thana 
had  no  fear  of  his  anger;  dreading  more 
the  silences  of  The  Tiger  of  Gokral-See- 
tarun.  With  him  came  Ram  Baksh,  the 
Havildar,  and  the  others,  guarding  ten 
men  of  the  village  of  Howli  —  all  men  evil 
affected  toward  the  police  of  the  Sirkar. 
As  prisoners  they  came,  the  irons  upon 
their  hands,  crying  for  mercy  —  Imam 
Baksh,  the  farmer,  who  had  denied  his  wife 
to  the  Havildar,  and  others,  ill-conditioned 
rascals  against  whom  we  of  the  Thana  bore 
spite.  It  was  well  done,  and  the  Havildar 
was  proud.  But  the  Dipty  Sahib  v/as 
angry  with  the  Stunt  for  lack  of  zeal,  and 
said  "  Dam-Dam  "  after  the  custom  of  the 
English  people,  and  extolled  the  Havildar. 
Yunkum  Sahib  lay  still  in  his  long  chair. 
"Have  the  men  svvorn?"  S3.id  Yunkum 
Sahib.  *'  Ay,  and  captured  ten  evil-doers," 
said  the  Dipty  Sahib.  "  There  be  more 
abroad  in  your  charge.  Take  horse  — 
ride,  and  go  in  tlie  name  of  the  Sirkar!  " 
"Truly  there  be  more  evil-doers  abroad,'* 
said  Yunkum  Sahib,  "  but  there  is  no  need 
of  a  horse.     Come  all  men  with  me." 


At  Howli  Thana  53 

I  saw  the  mark  of  a  string  on  the  temple 
of  Imam  Baksh.  Does  the  Presence  know 
the  torture  of  the  Cold  Draw?  I  saw  also 
the  face  cf  The  Tiger  ci  Gokral-Seetarun, 
the  evil  smile  was  upon  it,  and  I  stood  back 
ready  for  what  might  befall.  Well  it  was, 
sahib,  that  I  did  this  thing.  Yunkum  Sa- 
hib unlocked  the  door  of  his  bath-room, 
and  smiled  anew.  Within  lay  the  six  rifles 
and  the  big  police-book  of  the  Thana  of 
Howli!  He  had  come  by  night  in  the 
devil-carriage  that  is  noiseless  as  a  ghoul, 
and,  moving  amiong  us  asleep,  had  taken 
av/ay  both  the  guns  and  the  book!  Twice 
had  he  come  to  the  Thana,  taking  each 
time  three  rifles.  The  liver  of  the  Havil- 
dar  was  turned  to  water,  and  he  fell  scrab- 
bling in  the  dirt  about  the  boots  of  Yunkum 
Sahib,  crying,  "  Have  mercy!  " 

And  I?  Sahib,  I  am  a  Delhi  Pathan, 
and  a  young  man  with  little  children.  The 
Havildar's  mare  was  in  the  compound.  I 
ran  to  her  and  rode;  the  black  wrath  of  the 
Sirkar  vvas  behind  me,  and  I  knew  not 
whither  to  go.  Till  she  dropped  and  died 
I  rode  the  red  mare ;  and  by  the  blessing  of 
God,  who  is  without  doubt  on  the  side  of 
all  just  men,  I  escaped.  But  the  Havildar 
and  the  rest  are  novv^  in  jail.  ...  I  am 
a  scamp!  It  is  as  the  Presence  pleases. 
God  will  make  the  Presence  a  Lord,  and 
give  him  a  rich  Menisahih  as  fair  as  a  peri 


54  I^  Black  acd  White 

to  wife,  and  many  strong  sons,  if  he  makes 
me  his  orderly.  The  mercy  of  Heaven  be 
upon  the  sahib !  Yes,  I  will  only  go  to  the 
bazaar  and  bring  my  children  to  these  so- 
palace-like  quarters,  and  then  —  the  Pres- 
ence is  m_y  father  and  my  mother,  and  I, 
Afzal  Khan,  am  his  slave. 

Ohe,  Sirdar-ji!    I  also  am  of  the  house- 
hold of  the  sahib. 


GEMINI 


Great  is  the  justice  of  the  White  Man  —  greater 
the  power  of  a  lie. — Native  Proverb, 

This  is  your  English  justice,  protector 
of  the  poor.  Look  at  my  back  and  loins, 
which  are  beaten  with  sticks  —  heavy 
sticks!  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  there  is  no 
justice  in  courts. 

There  were  two  of  us,  and  we  were  born 
of  one  birth,  but  I  swear  to  you  that  I  was 
born  the  first,  and  Ram  Dass  is  the  younger 
by  three  full  breaths.  The  astrologer  said 
so,  and  it  is  written  in  my  horoscope  —  the 
horoscope  of  Durga  Dass. 

But  we  were  alike  —  I  and  my  brother 
who  is  a  beast  without  honor  —  so  alike 
that  none  knew,  together  or  apart,  which 
was  Durga  Dass.  I  am  a  Mahajun  of  Pali 
in  Marwar,  and  an  honest  man.  This  is 
true  talk.  When  we  were  men,  we  left 
our  father's  house  in  Pali,  and  went  to  the 
Punjab,  where  all  the  people  are  mud-heads 
and  sons  of  asses.  We  took  shop  together 
in  Isser  Tang  —  I  and  my  brother  —  near 

55 


56         In  Black  and  White 

the  big  well  where  the  governor's  camp 
draws  water.  But  Ram  Dass,  who  is  with- 
out truth,  m^ade  quarrel  with  me,  and  we 
were  divided.  He  took  his  books,  and  his 
pots,  and  his  ]\Iark,  and  became  a  hiinnia  — 
a  money-lender  —  in  the  long  street  of  Isser 
Jang,  near  the  gate-way  of  the  road  that 
goes  to  Alontgomery.  It  was  not  my  fault 
tliat  w^e  pulled  each  other's  turbans.  I  am 
a  Mahajun  of  Pali,  and  I  always  speak  true 
talk.     Ram  Dass  was  the  thief  and  the  liar. 

Now,  no  man,  not  even  the  little  chil- 
dren, could  at  one  glance  see  which  was 
Ram  Dass  and  which  was  Durga  Dass. 
But  all  the  people  of  Isser  Jang — m^ay  they 
die  without  sons !  —  said  that  we  were 
thieves.  They  used  much  bad  talk,  but  I 
took  money  on  their  bedsteads  and  their 
cooking-pots  and  the  standing  crop  and  the 
calf  unborn,  from  the  well  in  the  big  square 
to  the  gate  of  the  Montgomery  road.  They 
were  fools,  these  people  —  unfit  to  cut  the 
toe-nails  of  a  ^larwari  from  Pali.  I  lent 
money  to  them  all.  A  little,  very  little  only 
—  here  a  pice  and  there  a  pice. 

God  is  my  witness  that  I  am  a  poor  man! 
The  money  is  all  with  Ram  Dass  —  may  his 
sons  turn  Christian,  and  his  daughter  be  a 
burning  fire  and  a  shame  in  the  house  from 
generation  to  generation!  ]^Iay  she  die  un- 
wed, and  be  the  mother  of  a  multitude  of 
bastards !     Let  the  light  go  out  in  the  house 


Gemini  57 

of  Ram  Dass,  my  brother.  This  I  pray 
daily  twice  —  with  offerings  and  charms. 
Thus  the  trouble  began.  We  divided  the 
town  of  Isser  Jang  between  us  —  I  and  my 
brother.  There  was  a  landholder  beyond 
the  gates,  living  but  one  short  mile  out,  on 
the  road  that  leads  to  Montgomery,  and  his 
name  was  ^.lohammed  Shah,  son  of  a  Xa- 
wab.  He  was  a  great  dev  i  and  drank  wine. 
So  long  as  there  were  women  in  his  house, 
and  wine  and  money  for  the  marriage- 
feasts,  he  was  merry  and  wiped  his  mouth. 
Ram  Dass  lent  him  the  money,  a  lakh  or 
half  a  lakh  —  how  do  I  know?  —  and  so 
long  as  the  money  was  lent,  the  landholder 
cared  not  what  he  signed. 

The  people  of  Isser  Jang  were  my  por- 
tion, and  the  landholder  and  the  out-town 
was  the  portion  of  Ram  Dass;  for  so  we 
had  arranged.  I  was  the  poor  man,  for  the 
people  of  Isser  Jang  were  without  wealth, 
I  did  what  I  could,  but  Ram  Dass  had  only 
to  wait  without  the  door  of  the  landholder's 
garden-court,  and  to  lend  him  the  money; 
taking  the  bonds  from  the  hand  of  the 
steward. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  after  the  lend- 
ing, Ram  Dass  said  to  the  landholder: 
*' Pay  me  my  money;"  but  the  landholder 
gave  him  abuse.  But  Ram  Dass  went  into 
the  courts  with  the  papers  and  the  bonds  — 
all  correct  —  and  took  our  decrees  against 


58         In  Black  and  White 

the  landholder;  and  the  name  of  the  gov- 
ernment was  across  the  stamps  of  the  de- 
crees. Ram  Dass  took  field  by  field,  and 
mango-tree  by  mango-tree,  and  well  by 
well;  putting  in  his  own  men  —  debtors  of 
the  out-town  of  Isser  Jang  —  to  cultivate 
the  crops.  So  he  crept  up  across  the  land, 
for  he  had  the  papers,  and  the  name  of  the 
government  was  across  the  stamps,  till  his 
men  held  the  crops  for  him  on  all  sides  of 
the  big  white  house  of  the  landholder.  It 
was  well  done;  but  when  the  landholder 
saw  these  things  he  was  very  angry  and 
cursed  Ram  Dass  after  the  manner  of  the 
Mohammedans. 

And  thus  the  landholder  was  angry,  but 
Ram  Dass  laughed  and  claimed  more  fields, 
as  was  written  upon  the  bonds.  This  was 
in  the  month  of  Phagun.  I  took  my  horse 
and  w^ent  out  to  speak  to  the  man  who 
makes  lac-bangles  upon  the  road  that  leads 
to  Alontgomery,  because  he  owed  me  a 
debt.  There  was  in  front  of  me,  upon  his 
horse,  my  brother  Ram  Dass.  And  when 
he  saw  me,  he  turned  aside  into  the  high 
crops,  because  there  was  hatred  betw^een  us. 
And  I  went  forward  till  I  came  to  the  or- 
ange-bushes by  the  landholder's  house. 
The  bats  were  flying,  and  the  evening 
smoke  was  low  down  upon  the  land. 
Here  met  me  four  men  —  swashbucklers 
and     Mohammedans  —  with     their     faces 


Gemini  59 

bound  up,  laying  hold  of  my  horse's  bridle 
and    crying    out:      "This    is    Ram    Dass! 
Beat!"     Ale  they  beat  with  their  staves  — 
heavy  staves  bound  about  with  wire  at  the 
end,  such  weapons  as  those  swine  of  Pun- 
jabis use  —  till,  having  cried  for  mercy,  I 
fell  down  senseless.     But  these  shameless 
ones  still  beat  me,  saying:  ''  Oh,  Ram  Dass, 
this   is   your   interest  —  well   weighed  and 
counted  into  your  hand,   Ram   Dass."      I 
cried  aloud  that  I  was  not  Ram  Dass  but 
Durga  Dass,  his  brother,  yet  they  only  beat 
me  the  more,  and  when  I  could  make  no 
more  outcry  they  left  me.     But  I  saw  their 
faces.     There  was  Elahi  Baksh  who  runs 
by  the  side  of  the  landholder's  white  horse, 
and  Nur  AH  the  keeper  of  the  door,  and 
Wajib  AH  the  very  strong  cook,  and  Abdul 
Latif  the  messenger  —  all  of  the  household 
of   the    landholder.     These    things    I    can 
swear  on  the  cow's  tail  if  need  be,  but  — 
AJii!    Ahi!  —  it   has   been   already   sworn, 
and  I  am  a  poor  man  whose  honor  is  lost. 
When  these  four  had  gone  away  laugh- 
ing, my  brother  Ram  Dass  came  out  of  the 
crops  and  mourned  over  m^e  as  one  dead. 
But  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  prayed  him  to 
get  me  water.     When  I  had  drunk,  he  car- 
ried   me    on    his    back,    and    by    by-ways 
brought  me  into  the  town  of  Isser  Jang. 
My  heart  was  turned  to  Ram  Dass,  my 


6o         In  Black  and  White 

brother,  in  that  hour,  because  of  his  kind- 
ness, and  I  lost  my  enmity. 

But  a  snake  is  a  snake  till  it  is  dead;  and 
a  liar  is  a  liar  till  the  judgment  of  the  gods 
takes  hold  of  his  heel.  I  was  wrong  in 
that  I  trusted  my  brother  —  the  son  of  my 
mother. 

When  we  had  come  to  his  house  and  I 
was  a  little  restored,  I  told  him  my  tale,  and 
he  said:  "  Without  doubt,  it  is  me  whom 
they  would  have  beaten.  But  the  law 
courts  are  open,  and  there  is  the  justice  of 
the  Sirkar  above  all ;  and  to  the  law  courts 
do  thou  go  when  this  sickness  is  overpast." 

Now  when  we  two  had  left  Pali  in  the 
old  years,  there  fell  a  famine  that  ran  from 
Jeysulmir  to  Gurgaon  and  touched  Go- 
gunda  in  the  south.  At  that  time  the  sis- 
ter of  my  father  came  away  and  lived  with 
us  in  Isser  Jang;  for  a  man  must  above  all 
see  that  his  tolk  do  not  die  of  want.  When 
the  quarrel  between  us  tv/ain  came  about, 
the  sister  of  my  father  —  a  lean  she-dog 
without  teeth  —  said  that  Ram  Dass  had 
the  right,  and  went  with  him.  Into  her 
hands  —  because  she  knew  medicines  and 
many  cures  —  Ram  Dass,  my  brother,  put 
me  faint  with  the  beating  and  much  bruised 
even  to  the  pouring  of  blood  from  the 
mouth.  When  I  had  two  days'  sickness 
the  fever  came  upon  me;  and  I  set  aside  the 


Gemini  61 

fever  to  the  account  written  in  my  mind 
against  the  landholder. 

The  Punjabis  of  Isser  Jang  are  all  the 
sons  of  Belial  and  a  she-ass,  but  they  are 
very  good  witnesses,  bearing  testimony  un- 
shakenly  whatever  the  pleaders  may  say. 
I  would  purchase  witnesses  by  the  score, 
and  each  man  should  give  evidence,  not 
only  against  Xur  AH,  Wajib  Ah,  Abdul 
Latif  and  Elahi  Baksh,  but  against  the 
landholder,  saying  that  he  upon  his  white 
horse  had  called  his  men  to  beat  me;  and, 
further,  that  they  had  robbed  me  of  two 
hundred  rupees.  For  the  latter  testimony, 
I  would  remit  a  little  of  the  debt  of  the 
man  who  sold  the  lac-bangles,  and  he 
should  say  that  he  had  put  the  money  into 
my  hands,  and  had  seen  the  robbery  from 
afar,  but,  being  afraid,  had  run  away. 
This  plan  I  told  to  my  brother  Ram  Dass; 
and  he  said  that  the  arrangement  was  good, 
and  bade  me  take  comfort  and  make  swift 
work  to  be  abroad  again.  My  heart  was 
open  to  my  brother  in  my  sickness,  and  I 
told  him  the  names  of  those  whom  I  would 
call  as  witnesses  —  all  m^en  in  my  debt,  but 
of  that  the  m.agistrate  sahib  could  have  no 
knowledge,  nor  the  landholder.  The  fever 
stayed  with  me,  and  after  the  fever,  I  was 
taken  with  colic,  and  gripings  very  terrible. 
In  that  day  I  thought  that  my  end  was  at 
hand,  but  I  know  now  that  she  who  gave 


62        In  Black  and  White 

me  the  medicines,  the  sister  of  my  father  — 
a  widow,  with  a  widow's  heart  —  had 
brought  about  my  second  sickness.  Ram 
Dass,  my  brother,  said  that  my  house  was 
shut  and  locked,  and  brought  me  the  big 
door-key  and  my  books,  together  with  all 
the  moneys  that  were  in  my  house  —  even 
the  money  that  was  buried  under  the  floor; 
for  I  was  in  great  fear  lest  thieves  should 
break  in  and  dig.  I  speak  true  talk;  there 
was  but  very  little  money  in  my  house. 
Perhaps  ten  rupees  —  perhaps  twenty. 
Flow  can  I  tell?  God's  my  witness  that  I 
am  a  poor  man- 
One  night,  v/hen  I  had  told  Ram  Dass 
all  that  was  in  my  heart  of  the  lawsuit  that 
I  would  bring  against  the  landholder,  and 
Ram  Dass  said  that  he  had  made  the  ar- 
rangement vvith  the  v/itnesses,  giving  me 
their  names  written,  I  was  taken  with  a 
new  great  sickness,  and  they  put  me  on 
the  bed.  When  I  was  a  little  recovered  — 
1  can  not  tell  how  many  days  afterward  — 
1  made  inquiry  for  Ram  Dass,  and  the  sis- 
ter of  my  father  said  that  he  had  gone  to 
Montgomery  upon  a  lawsuit.  I  took  medi- 
cine and  slept  very  heavily  without  waking. 
When  my  eyes  were  opened,  there  was  a 
great  stillness  in  the  house  of  Ram  Dass, 
and  none  answered  when  I  called  —  not 
even  the  sister  of  my  father.     This  filled  me 


Gemini  63 

with    tear,    for    I    knew    not    what    had 
happened. 

Taking  a  stick  in  my  hand,  I  went  out 
slowly,  till  I  came  to  the  great  square  by 
the  well,  and  my  heart  was  hot  in  me 
against  the  landholder  because  of  the  pain 
of  every  step  I  took. 

I  called  for  Jowar  Singh,  the  carpenter, 
whose  name  was  f.rst  upon  the  list  of  those 
who  should  bear  evidence  against  the  land- 
holder, saying:  ''Are  all  things  ready, 
and  do  you  know  what  should  be  said  ?  " 

Jowar  Singh  answered:  ''What  is  this, 
and  whence  do  you  come,  Durga  Dass?" 

I  said:  "From  my  bed,  where  I  have 
so  long  lain  sick  because  of  the  landholder. 
V/here  is  Ram  Dass,  my  brother,  who  was 
to  have  mnde  the  arrangements  for  the  wit- 
nesses? vSurelv  you  and  vours  know  these 
things?" 

Then  Jowar  Singh  said:  "What  has 
this  to  do  with  us,  oh,  liar?  I  have  borne 
ivitness  and  have  been  paid,  and  the  land- 
bolder  has,  by  the  order  of  the  court,  paid 
both  the  five  hundred  rupees  that  he 
-obbed  from  Ram  Dass  and  yet  other  five 
lundred  because  of  the  great  injury  he  did 
:o  your  brother." 

The  well  and  the  jujube-tree  above  it  and 
;he  sciuare  of  Isser  Jang  became  dark  in 
Tiy  eyes,  brt  I  leaned  on  my  stick  and  said: 
'Nay!     This  is  child's  talk  and  senseless. 


64         In  Black  and  White 

It  was  I  who  suffered  at  the  liands  of  the 
landholder,  and  I  am  come  to  make  ready 
the  case.  Where  is  my  brother  Ram 
Dass? " 

But  Jowar  Singh  shook  his  head,  and  a 
woman  cried:  ''What  lie  is  here?  What 
quarrel  had  the  landholder  with  you,  bun- 
niaf  It  is  only  a  shameless  one  and  one 
without  faith  who  profits  by  his  brother's 
smarts.     Have  these  bunnias  no  bowels?'' 

I  cried  again,  saying:  "  By  the  Cow  — 
by  the  Oath  of  the  Cow,  by  the  Temple  of 
the  Blue-throated  Mahadeo  —  I  and  I  only 
was  beaten  —  beaten  to  the  death!  Let 
our  talk  be  straight,  oh,  people  of  Isser 
Jang,  and  I  will  pay  for  the  witnesses." 
And  I  tottered  where  I  stood,  for  the  sick- 
ness and  the  pain  of  the  beating  were  heavy 
upon  me. 

Then  Ram  Narain,  who  has  his  carpet 
spread  under  the  jujube-tree  by  the  well, 
and  writes  all  letters  for  the  men  of  the 
town,  came  up  and  said:  "To-day  is  the 
one-and-fortieth  day  since  the  beating,  and 
since  these  six  days  the  case  has  been 
judged  in  the  court,  and  the  assistant  com- 
missioner sahib  has  given  it  for  your 
brother  Ram  Dass,  allowing  the  robbery. 
to  which,  too,  I  bore  witness,  and  all  things 
else  as  the  witnesses  said.  There  were 
many  witnesses,  and  twice  Ram  Dass  be- 
came senseless  in  the  court  because  of  his 


I 


Gemini  6  5 

wounds,  and  the  Stunt  Sahib  —  the  baba 
Stunt  Sahib  —  gave  him  a  chair  before  all 
the  pleaders.  Why  do  you  howl,  Durga 
Dass?  These  things  fell  as  I  have  said. 
Was  it  not  so?  *' 

And  Jowar  Singh  said:  "  That  is  truth, 
1  v/as  there,  and  there  was  a  red  cushion 
in  the  chair." 

And  Ram  Xarain  said:  "  Great  shame 
has  com.e  upon  the  landholder  because  of 
this  judgment,  and  fearing  his  anger,  Ram> 
Dass  and  all  his  house  have  gone  back  to 
Pali.  Ram  Dass  told  us  that  you  also  had 
gone  first,  the  enmity  being  healed  between 
you,  to  open  a  shop  in  Pali.  Indeed,  it 
were  v/ell  for  you  that  you  go  even  now^ 
for  the  landholder  has  sworn  that  if  he 
catch  any  one  of  your  house,  he  will  hang 
him  by  the  heels  from  the  well-beam,  and, 
swinging  him  to  and  fro,  will  beat  hin} 
with  staves  till  the  blood  runs  from  his  ears. 
What  I  have  said  in  respect  to  the  case  is 
true  as  these  men  here  can  testify  —  even 
to  the  five  hundred  rupees." 

I  said:  "Was  it  five  hundred?"  And. 
Kirpa  Ram,  the  jaf,  said:  "Five  hundredf. 
for  I  bore  witness  also." 

And  I  groaned,  for  it  had  been  in  my 
heart  to  have  said  two  hundred  only. 

Then  a  new  fear  came  upon  me  and  my 
bowels  turned  to  water,  and,  running 
swiftly  to  the  house  of  Ram  Dass,  I  sought 


66         In  Black  and  White 

for  my  books  and  my  money  in  the  great 
wooden  chest  under  my  bedstead.  There 
remained  nothing;  not  even  a  cowrie's 
value.  All  had  been  taken  by  the  devil 
who  said  he  was  my  brother.  I  vv'ent  to 
my  own  house  also  and  opened  the  boards 
of  the  shutters;  but  there  also  was  nothing 
save  the  rats  among  the  grain-baskets. 
In  that  hour  my  senses  left  me,  and,  tearing 
my  clothes,  I  ran  to  the  well-place,  crying 
out  for  the  justice  of  the  English  on  my 
brother  Ram  Dass,  and,  in  my  madness, 
telling  all  that  the  books  were  lost  When 
men  saw  that  I  would  have  jumped  down 
the  well,  they  believed  the  truth  of  my  talk; 
more  especially  because  upon  my  back  and 
bosom  were  still  the  marks  of  the  staves  of 
the  landholder. 

Jowar  Singh  the  carpenter  withstood  me, 
and  turning  me  in  his  hands  —  for  he  is  a 
very  strong  man  —  showed  the  scars  upon 
m.y  body,  and  bowed  down  with  laughter 
upon  the  well-curb.  He  cried  aloud  so  that 
all  heard  him,  from  the  v;ell-square  to  the 
caravansary  of  the  pilgrims:  *'  Oho!  The 
jackals  have  quarreled,  and  the  gray  one 
has  been  caught  in  the  trap.  In  truth,  this 
man  has  been  grievously  beaten,  and  his 
brother  has  taken  the  money  which  the 
court  decreed!  Oh,  hunnia,  this  shall  be 
told  for  years  against  you!  The  jackals 
have  quarreled,  and,  moreover,  the  books 


Gemini  67 

are  burned.  Oh,  people  indebted  to  Durga 
Dass  —  and  I  know  that  ye  be  many  —  the 
books  are  burned!  " 

Then  all  Isser  Jang  took  up  the  cry  that 
the  books  were  burned.  Ahi!  Ahi!  thai 
in  my  folly  I  had  let  that  escape  my  mouth 
—  and  they  laughed  throughout  the  city. 
They  gave  me  the  abuse  of  the  Punjabi, 
which  is  a  terrible  abuse  and  very  fc::;;  pelt- 
ing me  also  vvith  sticks  and  cow-dung  till 
[  fell  dov/n  and  cried  for  mercy. 

Ram  Narain,  the  letter-writer,  bade  the 
people  cease,  for  fear  that  the  news  should 
g'et  into  xNlontgomery,  and  the  policem.en 
tnight  come  down  to  inquire.  He  said, 
.ising  many  bad  Vv^ords :  "  This  much  mercy 
kvill  I  do  to  you,  Durga  Dass,  though  there 
rt'as  no  mercy  in  your  dealings  with  my 
lister's  son '  over  the  matter  of  the  dun 
leifer.  Has  any  man  a  pony  on  which  he 
;ets  no  store,  that  this  fellow  may  escape? 
[f  the  landholder  hears  that  one  of  the 
:wain  (and  God  knows  whether  he  beat  one 
jr  both,  but  this  man  is  certainly  beaten) 
)e  in  the  city,  there  will  be  a  murder  done, 
uid  then  will  come  the  police,  making  in- 
juisition  into  each  man's  house  and  eating 
he  sweet-seller's  stuff  all  day  long." 

Kirpa  Ram,  the  jat,  said:  "  I  have  a  pony 
^ery  sick.  But  v/ith  beating  he  can  be 
nade  to  walk  for  two  miles.  If  he  dies, 
he  hide-sellers  will  have  the  body." 


68  In  Black  and  White 

Then  Chumbo,  the  hide-seller,  said:  "I 
will  pay  three  anrxas  for  the  body,  and  will 
walk  by  this  man's  side  till  such  time  as 
the  pony  dies.  If  it  be  more  than  two 
miles,  I  will  pay  two  annas  only." 

Kirpa  Ram  said:  ''Be  it  so."  INIen 
brought  out  the  pony,  and  I  asked  leave 
to  draw  a  little  water  from  the  well,  because 
I  was  dried  up  with  fear. 

Then  Ram  Narain  said:  "Here  be  four 
annas.  God  has  brought  you  very  low, 
Durga  Dass,  and  I  v»^ould  not  send  you 
away  empty,  even  though  the  matter  of  my 
sister's  son's  dun  heifer  be  an  open  sore 
between  us.  It  is  a  long  way  to  your  own 
country.  Go,  and  if  it  be  so  willed,  live; 
but,  above  all,  do  not  take  the  pony's 
bridle,  for  that  is  mine." 

And  I  went  out  of  Isser  Jarig,  amid  the 
laughing  of  the  huge-thighed  jats,  and  the 
hide-seller  walked  by  my  side  waiting  for 
the  pony  to  fall  dead.  In  one  mile  it  died, 
and  being  full  of  fear  of  the  landholder,  I 
ran  till  I  could  run  no  more  and  came  to 
this  place. 

But  I  swear  by  the  Cow,  I  swear  by  all 
things  whereon  Hindoos  and  Mussulmans, 
and  even  the  sahibs  swear,  that  I,  and  not 
m.y  brother,  was  beaten  by  the  landholder. 
But  the  case  is  shut  and  the  doors  of  the 
lav.-  courts  are  shut,  and  God  knows  where 
the  baba  Stunt  Sahib  —  the  mother's  milk 


Gemini  69 

is  not  dry  upon  his  hairless  Hp  —  is  gene. 
Ahi!  Ahi!  I  have  no  witnesses,  and  the 
scars  will  heal,  and  I  am  a  poor  man.  But, 
on  my  father's  soul,  on  the  oath  of  a  Alaha- 
jun  from.  Pali,  I,  and  not  my  brother,  was 
beaten  by  the  landholder! 

What  can  I  do?  The  justice  of  the  Eng- 
lish is  as  a  great  river.  Having  gone  for- 
ward, it  does  not  return.  Howbeit,  do  you, 
sahib,  take  a  pen  and  write  clearly  what  I 
have  said,  that  the  Dipty  Sahib  may  see, 
and  reprove  the  Stunt  Sahib,  who  is  a  colt 
yet  unlicked  by  the  mare,  so  young  is  he. 
I,  and  not  my  brother,  was  beaten,  and  he 
is  gone  to  the  west  —  I  do  not  know  where. 

But,  above  all  things,  write  —  so  that  sa- 
hibs may  read,  and  his  disgrace  be  accom- 
plished —  that  Ram  Dass,  my  brother,  son 
of  Purun  Dass,  Mahajun  of  Pali,  is  a  swine 
and  a  night-thief,  a  taker  of  life,  an  eater 
of  flesh,  a  jackals-pawn,  without  beauty,  or 
faith,  or  cleanliness,  or  honor! 


AT  TWENTY-TWO 


Narrow  as  the  womb,  deep  as  the  Pit,  and  dark 
as  the  heart  of  a  man. — Sonthal  Miner's  Proverb, 

"  A  WEAVER  went  out  to  reap  but  stayed 
to  unravel  the  corn-stalks.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 
Is  there  any  sense  in  a  weaver?  " 

The  never-ending  tussle  had  recom- 
menced. Janki  Meah  glared  at  Kundoo, 
but,  as  Janki  ^^leah  was  blind,  Kundoo  was 
not  impressed.  He  had  come  to  argue  with 
Janki  j\Ieah,  and,  if  chance  favored,  to  make 
love  to  the  old  man's  beautiful  young  wife. 

This  was  Kundoo's  grievance,  and  he 
spoke  in  the  name  of  all  the  five  men  who, 
with  Janki  jMeah,  composed  the  gang  in 
Xo.  /gallery  of  Twenty-two.  Janki  Meah 
had  been  blind  for  the  thirty  years  during 
which  he  had  served  the  Jimahari  Collier- 
ies with  pick  and  crowbar.  All  through 
those  thirty  years  he  had  regularly,  every 
morning  before  going  down,  drawn  from 
the  overseer  his  allowance  of  lamp-oil  — 
just  as  if  he  had  been  an  eyed  miner. 
What  Kundoo*s  gang  resented,  as  hundreds 

70 


At  Twenty-Two  71 

of  gangs  had  resented  before,  was  Janki 
Meah's  selfishness.  He  would  not  add  the 
oil  to  the  common  stock  of  his  gang,  but 
would  save  and  sell  it. 

"  I  knew  these  workings  before  you  were 
born,"  Janki  Meah  used  to  reply:  ''  I  don't 
want  the  light  to  get  my  coal  out  by,  and 
I  am  not  going  to  help  you.  The  oil  is 
mine,  and  I  intend  to  keep  it." 

A  strange  man  in  many  ways  was  Janki 
Meah,  the  white-haired,  hot-tempered, 
sightless  weaver  v;ho  had  turned  pitman. 
All  day  long  —  except  on  Sundays  and 
Mondays,  when  he  was  usually  drunk  —  he 
worked  in  the  Twenty-two  shaft  of  the 
jimahari  Colliery  as  cleverly  as  a  man  vv'ith 
all  the  senses.  At  evening  he  went  up  in 
the  great  steam-hauled  cage  to  the  pit-bank, 
and  there  called  for  his  pony  —  a  rusty, 
coal-dusty  beast,  nearly  as  old  as  Janki 
Meah.  The  pony  would  come  to  his  side, 
and  Janki  IMeah  would  clamber  on  to  its 
back  and  be  taken  at  once  to  the  plot  of 
land  which  he,  like  the  other  miners,  re- 
ceived from  the  Jimahari  company.  The 
pony  knew  that  place,  and  when,  after  six 
years,  the  company  changed  all  the  allot- 
ments to  prevent  the  miners  acquiring  pro- 
prietary rights,  Janki  Meah  represented, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  were  his  holding 
shifted  he  would  never  be  able  to  find  his 
way  to  the   new  one.      ''  My  horse   only 


72         In  Blark  and  White 

knows  that  place,"  pleaded  Janki  Meah,  and 
so  he  was  allowed  to  keep  his  land. 

On  the  strength  of  this  concession  and 
his  accumulated  oil-savings,  Janki  Meah 
took  a  second  wife  —  a  girl  of  the  Jolaha 
main  stock  of  the  Meahs,  and  singularly 
beautiful.  Janki  Meah  could  not  see  her 
beauty;  wherefore  he  took  her  on  trust,  and 
forbade  her  to  go  down  the  pit.  He  had 
not  worked  for  thirty  years  in  the  dark 
without  knowing  that  the  pit  was  no  place 
for  pretty  women.  He  loaded  her  with 
ornaments  —  not  brass  or  pewter,  but  real 
silver  ones  —  and  she  rewarded  him  by 
flirting  outrageously  with  Kundoo  of  No.  7 
gallery-gang.  Kundoo  was  really  the 
gang  head,  but  Janki  Meah  insisted'  upon 
all  the  work  being  entered  in  his  own  name, 
and  chose  the  men  that  he  worked  with. 
Custom  —  stronger  even  than  the  Jima- 
hari  company  —  dictated  that  Janki,  by 
right  of  his  years,  should  manage  these 
things,  and  should  also  work  despite  his 
blindness.  In  Indian  mines  where  they 
cut  into  the  solid  coal  with  the  pick  and 
clear  it  out  from  floor  to  ceiling,  he  could 
come  to  no  great  harm.  At  home,  where 
they  undercut  the  coal,  and  bring  it  dov/n 
in  crashing  avalanches  from  the  roof,  he 
would  never  have  been  allowed  to  set  foot 
in  a  pit.  He  was  not  a  popular  man,  be- 
cause of  his  oil-savings;  but  all  the  gangs 


At  Twenty-Two  73 

admitted  that  Janki  knew  all  the  hhads,  or 
workings,  that  had  ever  been  sunk  or 
worked  since  the  Jimahari  company  first 
started  operations  on  the  Tarachunda 
fields. 

Pretty  little  Unda  only  knew  that  her 
old  husband  was  a  fool  who  could  be  man- 
aged. She  took  no  interest  in  the  collieries 
except  in  so  far  as  they  swallowed  up  Kun- 
doo  five  days  out  of  the  seven,  and  covered 
him  with  coal-dust.  Kundoo  w^as  a  great 
workman,  and  did  his  best  not  to  get 
drunk,  because,  when  he  had  saved  forty 
rupees,  Unda  was  to  steal  everything  that 
she  could  find  in  Janki's  house  and  run 
with  Kundoo  ''  over  the  hills  and  far 
away  *'  to  countries  where  there  were  no 
mines,  and  every  one  kept  three  fat  bul- 
locks and  a  milch-buffalo.  While  this 
scheme  was  maturing  it  was  his  amiable 
custom,  to  drop  in  upon  Janki  and  worry 
him  about  the  oil-savings.  Unda  sat  in 
a  corner  and  nodded  approval.  On  the 
night  when  Kundoo  had  quoted  that  objec- 
tionable proverb  about  weavers,  Janki  grev/ 
angry. 

"  Listen,  you  pig,"  said  he,  "  blind  i 
am.,  and  old  I  am,  but,  before  ever  3'ou  were 
born,  I  was  gray  among  the  coal.  Even 
in  the  days  when  the  Twenty-two  kliad  was 
unsunk  and  there  were  not  two  thousand 
men  here.  I  was  known  to  have  all  knowl- 


74        In  Black  and  White 

edge  of  t]-je  pits.  What  khad  is  there  that 
1  do  not  know,  from  the  bottom  of  the  shaft 
to  the  end  of  the  last  drive?  Is  it  the 
Baromba  khad,  the  oldest,  or  the  Twenty- 
two  where  Tibu's  gallery  runs  up  to 
Number  5?" 

"  Hear  the  old  fool  talk  "  said  Kundoo, 
nodding  to  Unda.  "  No  gallery  of 
Twenty-two  will  cut  into  five  before  the 
end  of  the  rains.  We  have  a  month's  solid 
coal  before  us.     The  Babuji  says  so." 

''Babuji!  Pigji!  Dogji !  What  do 
these  fat  slugs  from  Calcutta  know?  He 
draws  and  draws  and  draws,  and  talks  and 
talks  and  talks,  and  his  maps  are  all  wrong. 
I,  Janki,  know  that  this  is  so.  When  a 
man  has  been  shut  up  in  the  dark  foi 
thirty  years,  God  gives  him  knowledge. 
The  old  gallery  that  Tibu's  gang  made  is 
not  six  feet  from  Number  5." 

"  \Vithout  doubt  God  gives  the  blind 
knowledge,"  said  Kundoo,  with  a  look  at 
Unda.  "  Let  it  be  as  you  say.  I,  for  my 
part,  do  not  know  where  lies  the  gallery 
of  Tibu's  gang,  but  I  am  not  a  withered 
monkey  who  needs  oil  to  grease  his  joints 
with." 

Kundoo  swung  out  of  the  hut  laughing, 
and  Unda  giggled.  Janki  turned  his  sight- 
less eyes  toward  his  wife  and  swore.  '*  I 
have  land,  and  I  have  sold  a  great  deal  of 


At  Twenty-Two  75 

lamp-oil,"  mused  Janki;  "  but  I  was  a  fool 
to  marry  this  child." 

A  week  later  the  rains  set  in  with  a  ven- 
geance, and  the  gangs  paddled  about  in 
coal-slush  at  the  pit-banks.  Then  the  big 
mine-pumps  were  made  ready,  and  the  man- 
ager of  the  colliery  plowed  through  the  wet 
toward  the  Tarachunda  R.iver  swelling  be- 
tween its  soppy  banks.  "  Lord,  send  that 
this  beastly  beck  doesn't  mdsbehave,"  said 
the  manager,  piously,  and  he  went  and  took 
counsel  wiih  his  assistant  about  the  pumps. 

But  the  Tarachunda  misbehaved  very 
m.uch  indeed.  After  a  fall  of  three  inches 
of  rain  in  an  hdnr  it  was  obliged  to  do 
something.  It  topped  its  bank  and  joined 
the  flood-water  that  was  hemmed  between 
two  low^  hills  just  where  the  embankment 
of  the  colliery  main  line  crossed.  When 
a  good  part  of  a  rain-fed  river,  and  a  fev\^ 
acres  of  flood-water,  make  a  dead  set  for 
a  nine-foot  culvert,  the  culvert  may  spout 
its  finest,  but  the  water  can  not  all  get  out. 
The  manager  pranced  upon  one  leg  with 
excitement,  and  his  language  was  imipropen 

He  had  reason  to  swear,  because  ne 
knew  that  one  inch  of  water  on  land  meant 
a  pressure  of  one  hundred  tons  to  the  acre; 
and  here  were  about  five  feet  of  water 
forming,  behind  the  railway  embankment, 
over  the  shallower  workings  of  Twenty- 
two.     You  must  understand  that,  in  a  coal- 


76         In  Black  and  White 

mine,  the  coal  nearest  the  surface  is  worked 
first  from  the  central  shaft.  That  is  to  say, 
the.  miners  may  clear  out  the  stuff  to  within 
ten,  twenty,  or  thirty  feet,  of  the  surface, 
and,  when  all  is  worked  out,  leave  only  a 
skin  of  earth  upheld  by  some  few  pillars 
of  coal.  In  a  deep  mine  where  they  know 
that  they  have  any  amount  of  material  at 
hand,  men  prefer  to  get  all  their  mineral 
out  at  one  shaft,  rather  than  make  a  num- 
ber of  little  holes  to  tap  the  comparatively 
unimportant  surface  coal. 

And  the  manager  watched  the  flood. 

The  culvert  spouted  a  nine-foot  gush; 
but  the  water  still  formed,  and  word  v/as 
sent  to  clear  the  men  out  of  Twenty-two. 
The  cages  cam.e  up  crammed  and  crammed 
again  with  the  men  nearest  the  pit-eye,  as 
they  call  the  place  where  you  can  see  day- 
light from  the  bottom  of  the  main  shaft. 
All  away  and  away,  up  the  long  black  gal- 
leries the  flare-lamps  were  winking  and 
dancing  like  so  many  flre-flies.  and  the  men 
and  the  women  v/aited  for  the  clanking, 
rattling,  thundering  cages  to  come  down 
and  fly  up  again.  But  the  out-workings 
were  very  far  off,  and  the  word  could  not 
be  passed  quickly,  though  the  heads  of  the 
gangs  and  the  assistant  shouted  and  swore 
and  tramped  and  stumbled.  The  manager 
kept  one  eye  on  the  great  troubled  pool 
behind  the  embankment,  and  prayed  that 


At  Twenty-Two  77 

th&  culvert  would  give  way  and  let  the 
water  through  in  time.  With  the  other  eye 
he  watched  the  cages  come  up  and  saw 
the  headmen  counting  the  roll  of  the 
gangs.  \\'ith  all  his  heart  and  soul  he 
sv/ore  at  the  winder  who  controlled  the 
iron  drum  that  wound  up  the  wire  rope  on 
vrhich  hung  tlie  cages. 

In  a  little  time  there  was  a  down-draw 
m  the  water  behind  the  embankm.ent  —  a 
sucking  whirlpool,  all  yellow  and  yeasty. 
TliQ  vrater  had  smashed  through  the  skin 
of  the  earth  and  was  poring  into  the  old 
shallow  v/orkings  of  Twenty-two. 

Deep  down  below,  a  rush  of  black  Vv^ater 
caught  the  last  gang  waiting  for  the  cage, 
and  as  they  clambered  in,  the  whirl  was 
about  their  waists.  The  cage  reached  the 
pit-bank,  and  the  manager  called  the  roll. 
The  gangs  were  all  safe  except  Gang  Janki, 
Gang  I\Iogul,  and  Gang  Rahim,  eighteen 
m.en,  with  perhaps  ten  basket-women  who 
loaded  the  coal  into  the  little  iron  carriages 
that  ran  on  the  tramways  of  the  main  gal- 
leries. These  gangs  were  in  the  out-work- 
ings, three  quarters  of  a  mile  away,  on  the 
extreme  fringe  of  the  mine.  Once  more 
the  cage  v/ent  down,  but  with  only  two 
Englishmen  in  it,  and  dropped  into  a 
sv.'irling,  roaring  current  that  had  almost 
touched  the  roof  of  some  of  the  lower  side- 
galleries.     One  of  the  wooden  balks  with 


78         In  Black  and  White 

which  they  had  propped  the  old  working 
shot  past  on  the  current,  just  missing  the 
cage. 

''  If  we  don't  wart  our  ribs  knocked  out, 
we'd  better  go,"  said  the  manager.  *'  We 
can't  even  save  the  company's  props." 

The  cage  di-ew  out  of  the  water  with  a 
splash,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  it  was  offi- 
cially reported  that  there  were  at  least  ten 
feet  of  water  in  the  pit's-eye.  Now  ten  feet 
of  water  there  meant  that  all  other  places 
in  the  mine  were  flooded  except  such  gal- 
leries as  were  more  than  ten  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  bottom  of  the  shaft.  The  deep 
workings  would  be  full,  the  main  galleries 
would  be  full,  but  in  the  high  workings 
reached  by  inclines  from  the  main  roads, 
there  wouid  be  a  certain  amount  of  air  cut 
ofiF,  so  to  speak,  by  the  water  and  squeezed 
up  by  it.  The  little  science-primers  explain 
how  water  behaves  vv'hen  you  pour  it  dov\Ti 
test-tubes.  The  flooding  of  Twenty-two 
was  an  illustration  on  a  large  scale. 


**  By  the  Holy  Grove,  what  has  happened 
to  the  air?  It  was  a  Sonthal  gangman  of 
Gang  !Mogul  in  No.  9  gallery,  and  he  was 
driving  a  six-foot  way  through  the  coal. 
Then  there  was  a  rush  from  the  other  gal- 
leries, p.nd  Gang  Janki  and  Gang  Rahim 
Stumbled  up  with  their  basket-women. 


At  Twenty-Two  79 

"  Water  has  come  in  the  mine,"  they  said, 
*'  and  there  is  no  way  of  getting  out." 

"  I  went  down,"  said  Janki  — "  down  the 
slope  of  my  gallery,  and  I  felt  the  water." 

"  There  has  been  no  water  in  the  cutting 
in  our  time,"  clamored  the  women.  "  Why 
can  not  we  go  away?  " 

"  Be  silent,"  said  Janki;  "  long  ago,  when 
my  father  was  here,  v/ater  came  to  Ten  — 
no.  Eleven  —  cutting,  and  there  was  great 
trouble.  Let  us  get  away  to  where  the  air 
is  better." 

The  three  gangs  and  the  basket-women 
left  No.  9  gallery  and  went  further  up  No, 
16.  At  one  turn  of  the  road  they  could  see 
the  pitchy  black  water  lapping  on  the  coaL 
It  had  touched  the  roof  of  a  gallery  that 
they  knew  well  —  a  gallery  where  they  used 
to  smoke  their  hnqas  and  conduct  their 
flirtations.  Seeing  this,  they  called  aloud 
upon  their  gods,  and  the  ]\Ieahs,  vvho  are 
thrice  bastard  ^Mohammedans,  strove  to  rec- 
ollect the  name  of  the  Prophet.  ^  They  came 
to  a  great  open  square  whence  nearly  all 
the  coal  had  been  extracted.  It  was  the 
end  of  the  out-workings,  and  the  end  of  the 
mine. 

Far  away  down  the  gallery  a  small  pump- 
ing-engine,  used  for  keeping  dry  a  deep 
working  and  fed  with  steam  from  above, 
was  faithfully  throbbing.  They  heard  it 
cease. 


8o         In  Black  and  White 

"  They  have  cut  off  the  steam,"  said  Kun» 
doo,  hopefully.  "  They  have  given  the  or- 
der to  use  ail  the  steam  for  the  pit-bank 
pumps.     They  will  clear  out  the  water." 

"  If  the  water  has  reached  the  smoking- 
gallery,"  said  Janki,  "  all  the  company's 
pumps  can  do  nothing  for  three  days." 

"  It  is  very  hot,"  moaned  Jasoda,  the 
•\Ieah  basket-woman.  "There  is  a  very 
bad  air  here  because  of  the  lamps." 

"  Put  them  out,"  said  Janki ;  "  why  do  you 
want  lamps?"  The  lamps  were  put  out 
amid  protests,  and  the  company  sat  still  in 
the  utter  dark.  Somebody  rose  quietly  and 
began  walking  over  the  coals.  It  was 
Janki,  who  was  touching  the  walls  with  his 
hands.  '*  Where  is  the  ledge?"  he  mur- 
mured to  himself. 

"  Sit,  sit!  "  said  Kundoo.  "  If  we  die,  we 
die.    The  air  is  very  bad." 

But  Janki  still  stumbled  and  crept  and 
tapped  with  his  pick  upon  the  walls.  The 
women  rose  to  their  feet. 

"  Stay  air  where  you  are.  Without  the 
tamps  you  can  not  see,  and  I  —  I  am  always 
seeing,"  said  Janki.  Then  he  paused,  and 
called  out:  "  Oh,  you  who  have  been  in  the 
cutting  m.ore  than  ten  years,  what  is  the 
name  of  this  open  place?  I  am  an  old  man 
and  I  have  forgotten." 

**  BuUia's  Room,"  answered  the  Sonthal 


At  Twenty-Two  8  i 

who  had  complained  of  the  vileness  of  the 
air. 

"Again,"  said  Janki. 

"  BulHa's   Room." 

"  Then  I  have  found  it/*  said  Janki, 
"  The  name  only  had  slipped  my  m-emory.. 
Tibu's  gang's  gallery  is  here." 

"  A  lie,"  said  Kundoo.  "  There  have 
been  no  galleries  in  this  place  since  my 
day." 

"  Three  paces  was  the  depth  of  the  ledge.'' 
muttered  Janki  without  heeding  — "  and  — 
oh,  my  poor  bones!  —  I  have  found  it!  It 
is  here,  up  this  ledge.  Come  all  you,  one 
by  one,  to  the  place  of  my  voice,  and  I  will 
count  you." 

There  was  a  rush  in  the  dark,  and  Janki 
felt  the  first  man's  face  hit  his  knees  as  the 
Sonthal  scrambled  up  the  ledge. 

*'Who?"  cried  Jaki. 

"  I,  Sunua  I\ianji." 

"  Sit  you  down,'*  said  Janki.  "  Who 
next?" 

One  by  one  the  women  and  the  men 
crawled  up  the  ledge  which  ran  along  one 
side  of  "  Bullia's  Room."  Degraded  Yio 
hammedan,  pig-eating  Musahr  and  wild 
Sonthal,  Janki  ran  his  hand  over  them  all, 

"  Xow  follow  after,"  said  he,  "  catching 
hold  of  mv  heel,  and  the  women  catching 
the  men's  clothes."  He  did  not  ask 
whether  the  men  had  brought  their  picks 


82         In  Black  and  White 

with  them.  A  miner,  black  or  white,  does 
not  drop  his  pick.  One  by  one,  Janki  lead- 
ing, they  crept  into  the  old  gallery  —  a  six- 
foot  way  with  a  scant  four  feet  from  thill 
to  roof. 

*'  The  air  is  better  here,"  said  Jasoda. 
They  could  hear  her  heart  beating  in  thick, 
sick  bumps. 

"  Slowly,  slowly,"  said  Janki.  "  I  am  an 
old  man,  and  I  forget  many  things.  This 
is  Tibu's  gallery,  but  where  are  the  four 
bricks  where  they  used  to  put  their  huqa 
fire  on  when  the  sahibs  never  saw?  Slowly, 
slowly,  oh,  you  people  behind." 

They  heard  his  hands  disturbing  the 
small  coal  on  the  fioor  of  the  gallery  and 
then  a  dull  sound.  '*  This  is  one  unbaked 
brick,  and  this  is  another  and  another. 
Kundoo  is  a  young  man  —  let  him  come 
forward.  Put  a  knee  upon  this  brick  and 
strike  here.  When  Tibu's  gang  were  at 
dinner  on  the  last  day  before  the  good  coal 
ended,  they  heard  the  men  of  Five  on  the 
other  side,  and  Five  worked  their  gallery 
two  Sundays  later  —  or  it  m.ay  have  been 
one.  Strike  there,  Kundoo,  but  give  me 
room  to  go  back." 

Kundoo,  doubting,  drove  the  pick,  but 
the  first  soft  crush  of  the  coal  was  a  call  to 
him.  He  was  fighting  for  his  life  and  for 
Unda  —  pretty  little  Unda  with  the  rings 
on  all  her  toes  —  for  Unda  and  the  forty 


At  Twenty-Two  83 

rupees.  The  woman  sung  the  "  Song  of 
the  Pick  " —  the  terrible,  slow,  swinging 
melody  with  the  muttered  chorus  that  re- 
peats the  sliding  of  the  loosened  coal,  and, 
to  each  cadence,  Kundoo  smote  in  the  blacl: 
dark.  When  he  could  do  no  more,  Sunua 
jManji  took  the  pick,  and  struck  for  his  life 
and  his  wife,  and  his  village  beyond  the 
blue  hills  over  the  Tarachunda  River.  An 
hour  the  men  w^orked,  and  then  the  women 
cleared  away  the  coal. 

"  It  is  further  than  I  thought,"  said  Janki. 
"The  air  is  very  bad;  but  strike,  Kundoo, 
strike  hard." 

For  the  fifth  time  Kundoo  took  up  the 
pick  as  the  Sonthal  crawled  back.  The 
song  had  scarcely  recommenced  when  it 
was  broken  by  a  yell  from  Kundoo  that 
echoed  down  the  gallery:  ''Par  hita! 
Par  hita!  We  are  through,  we  are 
through!  "  The  imprisoned  air  in  the  mine 
shot  through  the  opening,  and  the  women 
at  the  far  end  of  the  gallery  heard  the 
water  rush  through  the  pillars  of  "  Bullia's 
Room  "  and  roar  against  the  ledge.  Hav- 
ing fulfilled  the  law  under  which  it  worked, 
it  rose  no  further.  The  women  screamed 
and  pressed  forward.  "  The  water  has 
come  —  we  shall  be  killed!     Let  us  go." 

Kundoo  crawled  through  the  gap  and 
found  liimself  in  a  propped  gallery  by  the 


84 


In  Black  and  White 


simple  process  of  hitting  his  head  against 
a  beam. 

''  Do  I  know  the  pits  or  do  I  not?  '* 
chuckled  Janki.  "  This  is  the  Number 
Five;  go  you  out  slowly,  giving  me  your 
names.  Ho!  Rahim,  count  your  gang! 
Now  let  us  go  forward,  each  catching  hold 
of  the  other  as  before." 

They  formed  a  line  in  the  darkness  and 
Janki  led  them  —  for  a  pitman  in  a  strange 
pit  is  only  one  degree  less  liable  to  err  than 
an  ordinary  mortal  underground  for  the 
first  time.  At  last  they  saw  a  flare-lamp, 
and  Gangs  Janki.  Mogul  and  Rahim  of 
Twenty-two  stumbled  dazed  into  the  glare 
of  the  draught-furnace  at  the  bottom  of 
Five:  Janki  feeling  his  way  and  the  rest 
behind. 

*'  Water  has  come  into  Twenty-two. 
God  knows  where  are  the  others.  I  have 
brought  these  men  from  Tibu's  gallery  in 
our  cutting:  making  connection  through 
the  north  side  of  the  gallery.  Take  us  to 
the  cage,'*  said  Janki  Meah. 


At  the  pit-bank  of  Twenty-two,  some 
thousand  people  clamored  and  wept  and 
shouted.  One  hundred  men  —  one  thou* 
sand  men  —  had  been  drowned  in  the  cut- 
ting. They  would  all  go  to  their  homes 
to-:v.orrow.     Where  were  their  men?     Lit- 


At  Twenty-Two  85 

tie  Unda,  her  scarf  drenched  with  the  rain, 
stood  at  the  pit-mouth  caUing  down  the 
shaft  for  Knndoo.  They  had  swung  the 
cages  clear  of  the  mouth,  and  her  only 
answer  was  the  murmur  of  the  flood  in  the 
pit's-eye  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet  below. 

"Look  after  that  woman!  She'll  chuck 
herself  down  the  shaft  in  a  minute," 
shouted  the  manager. 

But  he  need  not  have  troubled;  Unda 
was  afraid  of  death.  She  vv^anted  Kundoo. 
The  assistant  was  watching  the  flood  and 
seeing  how^  far  he  could  wade  into  it. 
There  was  a  lull  in  the  water,  and  the 
whirlpool  had  slackened.  The  mine  was 
full,  and  the  people  at  the  pit-bank  howled. 

"  jNIy  faith,  we  shall  be  lucky  if  w^e  have 
five  hundred  hands  in  the  place  to-mor- 
row! *'  said  the  manager.  "There's  some 
chance  yet  of  running  a  temporary  dam 
across  that  water.  Shove  in  anything  — 
tubs  and  bullock-carts  if  you  haven't 
enough  bricks.  Make  them  work  now  if 
they  never  Vv^orked  before.  Hi!  you  gang- 
ers, make  them  vv'ork." 

Little  by  little  the  crowd  was  broken  into 
detachments,  and  pushed  toward  the  water 
with  promises  of  overtime.  The  dam- 
making  began,  and  when  it  was  fairly  un- 
der way,  the  manager  thought  that  the 
hour  had  come  for  the  pum.ps.  There  was 
no  fresh  inrush  into  the  mine.     The  tall, 


86         In  Black  i.nd  White 

red,  iron-clamped  pump-beam  rose  and  fell, 
and  the  pumps  snored  and  guttered  and 
shrieked  as  the  first  water  poured  out  of 
the  pipe. 

'*  We  must  run  her  all  to-night,"  said  the 
manager,  wearily,  "  but  there's  no  hope  for 
the  poor  devils  down  below.  Look  here, 
Gur  Sahai,  if  you  are  proud  of  your  en- 
gines, show  me  what  they  can  do  now." 

Gur  Sahai  grinned  and  nodded,  with  his 
right  hand  upon  the  lever  and  an  oil-can 
in  his  left.  He  could  do  no  more  than  he 
was  doing,  but  he  could  keep  that  up  till 
the  dawn.  Were  the  company's  pumps  to 
be  beaten  by  the  vagaries  of  that  trouble- 
some Tarachunda  River?  Never,  never! 
And  the  pumps  sobbed  and  panted: 
"  Never,  never!  "  The  nianager  sat  in  the 
shelter  of  the  pit-bank  roofing,  trying  to 
dry  himself  by  the  pump-boiler  fire,  and,  in 
the  dreary  dusk,  he  saw  the  crowds  on  the 
dam  scatter  and  fly. 

"  That's  the  end,"  he  groaned.  "  'Twill 
take  us  six  weeks  to  persuade  'em  that  we 
haven't  tried  to  drown  their  mates  on  pur- 
pose.    Oh,  for  a  decent,  rational  Geordie!  " 

But  the  flight  had  no  panic  in  it.  Men 
had  run  over  from  Five  with  astounding 
news,  and  the  foremen  could  not  hold  their 
gangs  together.  Presently,  surrounded  by 
a  clamorous  crew,  Gangs  Rahim,  Mogul, 
and  Janki,  and  ten  basket-women,  walked 


At  Twenty-Two  87 

up  to  report  themselves,  and  pretty  little 
Unda  stole  away  to  Janki's  hut  to  prepare 
his  evening  meal. 

"Alone  I  found  the  way,"  explained 
Janki  Meah,  "  and  now  will  the  company 
give  me  pension?  " 

The  simple  pit-folk  shouted  and  leaped 
and  went  back  to  the  dam,  reassured  in 
their  old  belief  that,  whatever  happened,  so 
great  was  the  power  of  the  company  whose 
salt  they  eat,  none  of  them  could  be  killed. 
But  Gur  Sahai  only  bared  his  white  teeth 
and  kept  his  hand  upon  the  lever  and 
proved  his  pumps  to  the  uttermost. 

"  I  say,"  said  the  assistant  to  the  man- 
ager, a  week  later,  "  do  you  recollect 
'Germ.inar?" 

"  Yes.  Queer  thing.  I  thought  of  it  in 
the  cage  when  that  balk  went  by.     Why?  " 

"  Oh,  this  business  seems  to  be  *  Ger- 
minal '  upside  down.  Janki  was  in  my 
veranda  all  this  mxorning,  telling  me  that 
Kundoo  had  eloped  vv-ith  his  wife  —  Unda 
or  Anda,  I  think  her  name  was." 

"Halloo!  And  those  were  the  cattle 
that  you  risked  your  life  to  clear  out  of 
Twenty-tvv'o ! " 

"  "No  —  I  was  thinking  of  the  company's 
props,  not  the  company's  men." 

"Sounds  better  to  say  so  now;  but  I 
don't  believe  you,  old  fellow." 


IN  FLOOD  TIME 


Tweed  said  tae  Till:  — 
••  "What  gars  ye  rin  sae  still?* 

Till  said  tae  Tweed:  — 
**  Though  ye  rin  wi'  speed 
And  I  rin  slaw  — 
Yet  where  ye  droon  ae  man 
I  droon  twa." 

There  is  no  getting  over  the  river  to- 
night, sahib.  They  say  that  a  bullock-cart 
has  been  washed  down  already,  and  the 
ekka  that  Vv'ent  over  half  an  hour  before 
you  came  has  not  yet  reached  the  far  side. 
Is  the  sahib  in  haste?  I  will  drive  the  ford- 
elephant  in  to  show  him.  Ohe,  mahout 
there  in  the  shed!  Bring  out  Ram.  Per- 
shad,  and  if  he  will  face  the  current,  good. 
An  elephant  never  lies,  sahib,  and  Ram 
Pershad  is  separated  from  his  friend  Kala 
Nag.  He,  too,  wishes  to  cross  to  the  far 
side.  Well  done!  Well  done!  my  king! 
Go  half-way  across,  inahotttji  and  see  what 
the  river  says.  Well  done.  Ram  Pershad! 
Pearl  among  elephants,  go  Into  the  river! 
Hit  him  on  the  head,  fool  1     Was  the  goad 

88 


In  Flood  Time  89 

made  only  to  scratch  thy  own  fat  back  with, 
bastard?  Strike!  Strike!  What  are  the 
bowlders  to  thee,  Ram  Pershad,  my  Rus- 
tum,  my  mountain  of  strength?  Go  in! 
Go  in! 

No,  sahib!  It  is  useless.  You  can  hear 
him  trumpet.  lie  is  telHng  Kala  Nag  that 
he  can  not  com.e  over.  See!  He  has 
swung  round  and  is  shaking  his  head.  He 
15  no  fooL  He  knovv-s  what  the  Barh',\i 
means  when  it  is  angry.  Aha!  Indeed, 
thou  art  no  fool,  my  child!  Salam..  Ram 
Pershad,  Bahadur!  Take  him  under  the 
trees,  mahout,  and  see  that  he  gets  his 
spices.  Well  done,  thou  chiefest  among 
tuskers.  Salam  to  the  sirkar  and  go  to 
sleep. 

What  is  to  be  done?  The  sahib  m.ust 
wait  till  the  river  goes  dov»'n.  It  will 
shrink  to-morrow  morning,  if  God  pleases, 
or  the  day  after  at  the  latest.  Now  v/hy 
does  the  sahib  get  so  angry?  I  am  his 
servant.  Before  God,  I  did  not  create  this 
stream!  What  can  I  do?  My  hut  and  all 
that  is  therein  is  at  the  service  of  the  sahib, 
and  it  is  beginning  to  rain.  Come  away, 
my  lord.  How  will  the  river  go  down  for 
your  throwing  abuse  at  it?  In  the  old 
days  the  English  people  were  not  thus. 
The  hre-carriage  has  made  them  soft.  In 
the  old  days,  when  they  drove  behind 
horses  by  day  or  by  night,  they  said  naught 


go        In  Black  and  White 

if  a  river  barred  the  way  or  a  carriage  sat 
down  in  the  mud.  It  was  the  will  of  God 
—  not  like  a  lire-carriage  which  goes  and 
goes  and  goes,  and  would  go  though  all  the 
devils  in  the  land  hung  on  to  its  tail.  The 
fire-carriage  hath  spoiled  the  English  peo- 
ple. After  all,  vv^hat  is  a  day  lost,  or,  for 
that  matter,  what  are  two  days?  Is  the 
sahib  going  to  his  own  wedding,  that  he  is 
so  m.ad  with  haste?  Ho!  Ho!  Ho!  I 
am  an  old  man  and  see  few  sahibs.  For- 
give me  if  I  have  forgotten  the  respect  that 
is  due  to  them.     The  sahib  is  not  angry? 

His  own  wedding!  Ho!  Ho!  Ho! 
The  mind  of  an  old  man  is  like  the  numah- 
tree.  Fruit,  bud,  blossom,  and  the  dead 
leaves  of  all  the  years  of  the  past  flourish 
together.  Old  and  new  and  that  which  is 
gone  out  of  remembrance,  all  three  are 
there!  Sit  on  the  bedstead,  sahib,  and 
drink  milk.  Or  —  would  the  s?hib  in 
truth  care  to  drink  miy  tobacco?  it  is 
good.  It  is  the  tobacco  of  Nuklao.  My 
son,  who  is  in  service  there,  sent  it  to  me. 
Drink,  then,  sahib,  if  you  knovr  how  to 
handle  the  tube.  The  sahib  takes  it  like  a 
Mussulman.  Wah!  Wah!  Where  did 
he  learn  that?  His  own  wedding!  Ho! 
Ho!  Ho!  The  sahib  says  that  there  is 
no  wedding  in  the  matter  at  all?  Now  is 
it  likely  that  the  sahib  would  speak  true 
talk   to   me  who   am   onlv   a  black   man? 


In  Flood  Time  91 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  he  is  in  haste. 
Thirty  years  have  I  beaten  the  gong  at  this 
ford,  but  never  have  I  seen  a  sahib  in  such 
haste.  Thirty  years,  sahib !  That  is  a  very 
long  time.  Thirty  years  ago  this  ford  was 
on  the  track  of  the  bttnjaras,  and  I  have 
seen  two  thousand  pack-bullocks  cross  in 
one  night.  Now  the  rail  has  come,  and 
the  fire-carriage  says  ''  buz-buz-buz,"  and 
a  hundred  lakhs  of  maunds  slide  across 
that  big  bridge.  It  is  very  wonderful;  but 
the  ford  is  lonely  now  that  there  are  no 
bunjaras  to  camp  under  the  trees. 

Nay,  do  not  trouble  to  look  at  the  sky 
without.  It  will  rain  till  the  dawn.  Lis- 
ten! The  bowlders  are  talking  to-night  in 
the  bed  of  the  river.  Hear  them!  They 
would  be  husking  your  bones,  sahib,  had 
you  tried  to  cross.  See,  I  will  shut  the 
door  and  no  rain  can  enter.  Wahi!  Ahil 
Ugh!  Thirty  years  on  the  banks  of  the 
ford!  An  old  man  am  I  and  —  where  is 
the  oil  for  the  lamp? 


Your  pardon,  but,  because  of  my  years, 
I  sleep  no  sounder  than  a  dog;  and  you 
moved  to  the  door.  Look  then,  sahib. 
Look  and  listen.  A  full  half  kos  from  bank 
to  bank  is  the  stream  now  —  you  can  see 
it  under  the  stars  —  and  there  are  ten  feet 
of  water  therein.     It  will  not  shrink  be- 


92  In  Black  and  White 

cause  of  the  anger  in  your  eyes,  and  it  will 
not  be  quiet  on  account  of  your  curses. 
Wiiich  is  louder,  sahib  —  your  voice  or  the 
voice  of  the  river?  Call  to  it  —  perhaps  it 
will  be  ashamed.  Lie  down  and  sleep 
afresh,  sahib.  I  know  the  anger  of  the 
Barhwi  when  there  has  fallen  rain  in  ihe 
foot-hills.  I  swam  the  flood  once,  on  a 
night  tenfold  worse  than  this,  and  by  the 
favor  of  God  I  was  released  from  death 
when  I  had  come  to  the  very  gates  thereof. 

May  I  tell  the  tale?  Very  good  talk. 
I  will  fill  the  pipe  anew. 

Thirty  years  ago  it  was,  when  I  was  a 
young  man  and  had  but  newly  come  to  the 
ford.  I  Vv'as  strong  then,  and  the  bnnjaras 
had  no  doubt  when  I  said  "  this  ford  is 
clear."  I  have  toiled  all  night  up  to  my 
shoulder-blades  in  running  water  amid  a 
hundred  bullocks  mad  with  fear,  and  have 
brought  them  across  losing  not  a  hoof. 
When  all  was  done  I  fetched  the  shivering 
men,  and  they  gave  me  for  reward  the  pick 
of  their  cattle  —  the  bell-bullock  of  the 
drove.  So  great  was  the  honor  in  which 
I  was  held!  But  to-day  when  the  rain 
falls  and  the  river  rises  I  creep  into  my  hut 
and  whimper  like  a  dog.  The  strength  Is 
gone  from  me.  I  am  an  old  man  and  the 
fire-carriage  has  made  the  ford  desolate, 
They  were  wont  to  call  me  the  Strong  One 
of  the  Barhwi. 


In  Flood  Time  93 

Behold  my  face,  sahib.  It  is  the  face  oi 
a  monkey.  And  my  arm.  It  is  the  arm 
of  an  old  v/oman.  I  swear  to  you,  sahib, 
that  a  woman  has  loved  this  face  and  has 
rested  in  the  hollow  of  this  arm.  Twenty 
years  ago,  sahib.  Believe  me,  this  was 
true  talk  —  twenty  years  ago. 

Come  to  the  door  and  look  across.  Can 
you  see  a  thin  fire  very  far  away  down  the 
stream?  That  is  the  temple-fire,  in  the 
shrine  of  Hanuman,  of  the  village  of 
Pateera.  North,  under  the  big  star,  is  the 
village  itself,  but  it  is  hidden  by  a  bend  of 
the  river.  Is  that  far  to  swim,  sahib? 
Would  you  take  ofi"  your  clothes  and  ad- 
venture? Yet  I  swam  to  Pateera  —  not 
once  but  many  times;  and  there  are  mug- 
gers in  the  river  too. 

Love  knows  no  caste;  else  why  should 
I,  a  Mussulman  and  the  son  of  a  Mussul- 
man, have  sought  a  Hindoo  woman  —  a 
widow  of  the  Hindoos  —  the  sister  of  the 
headman  of  Pateera?  But  it  was  even  so. 
They  of  the  headman's  household  cam^e  on 
a  pilgrimage  to  Muttra  when  she  was  but 
newdy  a  bride.  Silver  tires  were  upon  the 
wheels  of  the  bullock-cart,  and  silken  cur- 
tains hid  the  woman.  Sahib,  I  made  no 
haste  in  their  conveyance,  for  the  wind 
parted  the  curtains  and  I  saw  her.  When 
they  returned  froni  pilgrimage  the  boy  that 
was  her  husband  had  died,  and  I  saw  her 


94 


In  Black  and  White 


again  in  the  bullock-cart.  By  God,  these 
Hindoos  are  fools!  What  was  it  to  me 
whether  she  was  Hindoo  or  Jain  —  scav- 
enger, leper  or  whole?  I  would  have  mar- 
ried her  and  made  her  a  home  by  the  ford. 
The  seventh  of  the  nine  bars  says  that  a 
man  may  not  marry  one  of  the  idolaters. 
Is  that  truth?  Both  Shiahs  and  Sunnis  say 
that  a  Mussulman  may  not  marry  one  of 
the  idolaters?  Is  the  sahib  a  priest,  then, 
that  he  knows  so  much?  I  will  tell  him 
something  that  he  does  not  know.  There 
is  neither  Shiah  nor  Sunni,  forbidden  nor 
idolater,  in  love;  and  the  nine  bars  are  but 
nine  little  fagots  that  the  flame  of  love 
utterly  burns  away.  In  truth,  I  would 
have  taken  her;  but  what  could  I  do?  The 
headman  would  have  sent  his  men  to  break 
my  head  with  staves.  I  am  not  —  I  was 
not  —  afraid  of  any  five  men ;  but  against 
half  a  village  who  can  prevail? 

Therefore  It  was  my  custom,  these 
things  having  been  arranged  between  us 
twain,  to  go  by  night  to  the  village  of 
Pateera,  and  there  we  met  among  the 
crops;  no  man  knowing  aught  of  the  mat- 
ter. Behold,  now!  I  was  wont  to  cross 
here,  skirting  the  jungle  to  the  river  bend 
where  the  railway  bridge  is,  and  thence 
across  the  elbow  of  land  to  Pateera.  The 
light  of  the  shrine  was  my  guide  when  the 
nights  were  dark.     That  jungle  near  the 


In  Flood  Time  95 

river  is  very  full  of  snakes  —  little  karaifs 
that  sleep  on  the  sand  —  and  moreover,  her 
brothers  would  have  slain  me  had  they 
found  m.e  in  the  crops.  But  none  knew  — 
none  knew  save  she  and  I;  and  the  blown 
sand  of  the  river  bed  covered  the  track  of 
my  feet.  In  the  hot  months  it  was  an  easy 
thing  to  pass  from  the  ford  to  Pateera,  and 
in  the  first  rains,  when  the  river  rose 
slowly,  it  was  an  easy  thing  also.  I  set 
the  strength  of  my  body  against  the 
strength  of  the  stream,  and  nightly  I  eat 
ha  my  hut  here  and  drank  at  Pateera  yon- 
der. She  had  said  that  one  Hirnam  Singh, 
a  scamp,  had  sought  her,  and  he  was  of  a 
-•iilage  up  the  river  but  on  the  same  bank- 
All  Sikhs  are  dogs,  and  they  have  refused 
in  their  folly  that  good  gift  of  God  — 
tobacco.  I  was  ready  to  destroy  Hirnam 
Singh  that  ever  he  had  come  nigh  her;  and 
the  more  because  he  had  sworn  to  her  that 
she  had  a  lover,  and  that  he  would  lie  in 
wait  and  give  the  name  to  the  headmian 
imless  she  went  away  with  him.  What 
curs  are  these  Sikhs ! 

After  that  news  I  swam  always  with  a 
little  sharp  knife  in  my  belt,  and  evil  would 
it  have  been  for  a  man  had  he  stayed  me. 
I  knew  not  the  face  of  Hirnam  Singh,  but 
I  would  have  killed  any  who  came  between 
me  and  her. 

Upon  a  night  in  the  beginning  of  the 


96         In  Black  and  White 

rains  I  was  minded  to  go  across  to  Pateera, 
albeit  the  river  was  angry.  Now  the  na- 
ture of  the  Barhwi  is  this,  sahib.  In  twenty- 
breaths  it  comes  down  from  the  hills,  a  wall 
three  feet  high,  and  I  have  seen  it,  between 
the  lighting  of  a  fire  and  the  cooking  of  a 
flapjack,  grow  from  the  runnel  to  a  sister 
of  the  Jumna. 

When  I  left  this  bank  there  was  a  shoal 
a  half  mile  down,  and  I  made  shift  to  fetch 
it  and  draw  breath  there  ere  going  forward; 
for  I  felt  the  hands  of  the  river  heavy  upon 
my  heels.  Yet  what  will  a  young  man  not 
do  for  Love's  sake?  There  was  but  little 
light  from  the  stars,  and  midway  to  the 
shoal  a  branch  of  the  stinking  deodar-tree 
brushed  my  mouth  as  I  swam.  That  was 
a  sign  of  heavy  rain  in  the  foot-hills  and 
beyond,  for  the  deodar  is  a  strong  tree,  not 
easily  shaken  from  the  hill-sides.  I  made 
haste,  the  river  aiding  me,  but  ere  I  had 
touched  the  shoal,  the  pulse  of  the  stream 
beat,  as  it  were,  within  me  and  around,  and, 
behold,  the  shoal  was  gone  and  I  rode  high 
on  the  crest  of  a  wave  that  ran  from  bank 
to  bank.  Has  the  sahib  ever  been  cast  into 
much  water  that  fights  and  will  not  let  a 
man  use  his  limbs?  To  me,  my  head  up 
on  the  water,  it  seemed  as  though  there 
were  naught  but  water  to  the  world's  end, 
and  the  river  drove  me  with  its  drift-wood. 
A  man  is  a  very  little  thing  in  the  belly  of 


In  Flood  Time  97 

a  flood.  And  this  flood,  though  I  knew  it 
not,  was  the  Great  Flood  about  which  men 
talk  still.  My  liver  was  dissolved  and  I  lay 
like  a  log  upon  my  back  in  the  fear  of  death. 
There  were  living  things  in  the  water,  cry- 
ing and  hovv^ling  grievously  —  beasts  of  the 
forest  and  cattle,  and  once  the  voice  of  a 
rnan  asking  for  help.  But  the  rain  came 
and  lashed  the  water  white,  and  I  heard 
no  more  save  the  roar  of  the  bowlders  be- 
iovv'  and  the  roar  of  the  rain  above.  Thus 
I  was  whirled  down-stream,  wrestling  for 
the  breath  in  me.  It  is  very  hard  to  die 
when  one  is  young.  Can  the  sahib,  stand- 
ing  here,  see  the  ail  way  bridge?  Look, 
there  are  the  lights  of  the  mail-train  going 
to  Peshawur!  The  bridge  is  now  twenty 
feet  above  the  river,  but  upon  that  night 
the  water  was  roaring  against  the  lattice- 
work and  against  the  lattice  came  I  feet 
first.  But  much  driftwood  was  piled  there 
and  upon  the  piers,  and  I  took  no  great 
hurt.  Only  the  river  pressed  me  as  a  strong 
man  presses  a  weaker.  Scarcely  could  I 
take  hold  of  the  lattice-work  and  crawl  to 
the  upper  boom.  Sahib,  the  water  was 
foaming  across  the  rails  a  foot  deep!  Judge 
therefore  what  manner  of  flood  it  must  have 
been.  I  could  not  hear.  I  could  not  see. 
I  could  but  lie  on  the  boom  and  pant  for 
breath. 

After  awhile  the  rain  ceased  and  tliere 


98 


In  Bkck  and  White 


came  out  in  ^le  sky  certain  new  washed 
stars,  and  by  tneir  light  I  saw  that  there 
v/as  no  end  to  the  black  water  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  travel,  and  the  water  had  risen 
upon  the  rails.  There  were  dead  beasts  in 
the  driftwood  on  the  piers,  and  others 
caught  by  the  neck  in  the  lattice-work,  and 
others  not  yet  drowned  who  strove  to  find 
a  foothold  on  the  lattice-work  —  buffaloes 
and  kine,  and  wild  pig,  and  deer  one  or  two, 
and  snakes  and  jackals  past  all  counting. 
Their  bodies  were  black  upon  the  left  side 
of  the  bridge,  but  the  smaller  of  them  vrere 
forced  through  the  lattice-work  and  whirled 
down-stream. 

Thereafter  the  stars  died  and  the  rain 
came  down  afresh  and  the  river  rose  yet 
more,  and  I  felt  the  bridge  begin  to  stir 
under  me  as  a  m.an  stirs  in  his  sleep  ere  he 
wakes.  But  I  was  not  afraid,  sahib.  I 
svs-ear  to  you  that  I  was  not  afraid,  though 
I  had  no  power  in  my  limbs.  I  knew  that  1 
should  not  die  till  I  had  seen  her  once 
more.  But  I  was  very  cold,  and  I  felt  that 
the  bridge  must  go. 

There  was  a  trembling  in  the  water,  such 
a  trembling  as  goes  before  the  coming  of 
a  great  wave,  and  the  bridge  lifted  its  flank 
to  the  rush  of  that  coming  so  that  the  right 
lattice  dipped  under  water  and  the  left  rose 
clear.  On  m.y  beard,  sahib,  I  am  speaking 
God's  truth!     As   a  Mirzapore  stone-boat 


In  Flood  Time  99 

careens  to  the  wind,  so  the  Barhwi  Bridge 
turned.  Just  thus  and  in  no  other  manner, 
I  sUd  from  the  boom  into  deep  water, 
and  behind  me  came  tlie  wave  of  wrath 
of  the  river.  I  heard  its  voice  and  the 
scream  of  the  middle  part  of  the  bridge  as 
it  moved  from  the  piers  and  sunk,  and  I 
knevv^  no  more  till  I  rose  in  the  mJddle  of 
the  great  flood.  I  put  forth  m.y  hand  to 
swim,  and  lo!  it  fell  upon  the  knotted  hair 
of  the  head  of  a  man.  He  was  dead,  for 
no  one  but  I,  the  Strong  One  of  Barhwi, 
could  have  lived  in  that  race.  He  had  been 
dead  full  two  days,  for  he  rode  high,  wal- 
lowing, and  was  an  aid  to  me.  I  laughed 
then,  knov/ing  for  a  surety  that  I  should 
yet  see  her  and  take  no  harm;  and  I  twisted 
my  fingers  in  the  hair  of  the  man,  for  I  was 
far  spent,  and  together  we  went  down  the 
stream  —  he  the  dead  and  I  the  living. 
Lacking  that  help  I  should  have  sunk;  the 
cold  was  in  my  marrow,  and  my  flesh  was 
ribbed  and  sodden  on  my  bones.  But  he 
had  no  fear  who  had  known  the  utiermost 
of  the  power  of  the  river;  and  I  let  him 
go  where  he  chose.  At  last  we  came  into 
the  power  of  a  side-current  that  set  to  the 
right  bank,  and  I  strove  with  my  feet  to 
draw  with  it.  But  the  dead  man  swung 
heavily  in  the  whirl,  and  I  feared  that  some 
branch  had  struck  him  and  that  he  would 
sink.     The  tops  of  the  tamarisk    brushed 


loo     In  Black  and  White 

my  knees,  so  I  knew  we  were  come  into 
flood-water  above  the  crops,  and,  after,  I 
let  down  my  legs  and  felt  bottom  —  the 
ridge  of  a  field  —  and,  after,  the  dead  man 
stayed  upon  a  knoil  under  a  fig-tree,  and 
I  drew  my  body  from  the  water  rejoicing. 

Does  the  sahib  know  whither  the  back- 
wash of  the  flood  had  borne  me?  To  the 
knoll  which  is  the  eastern  boundary  mark 
of  the  village  of  Pateera!  No  other  place. 
I  drew  the  dead  man  up  on  the  grass  for 
the  service  that  he  had  done  me,  and  also 
because  I  knew  not  whether  I  should  need 
l:im  again.  Then  I  went,  crying  thrice  like 
a  jackal,  to  the  appointed  place  which  was 
near  the  byre  of  the  herdman's  house.  But 
my  love  was  already  there,  weeping  upon 
her  knees.  She  feared  that  the  flood  had 
swept  my  hut  at  the  Barhv/i  Ford.  When 
I  came  softly  through  the  ankle-deep  water, 
she  thought  it  was  a  ghost  and  would  have 
fled,  but  I  put  my  arms  around  her,  and 
.  .  .  I  was  no  ghost  in  those  days, 
though  I  am  an  old  man  now.  Ho!  Ho! 
Dried  corn,  in  truth.  Maize  without  juice. 
Ho!     Ho!^ 

I  told  her  the  story  of  the  breaking  of  the 
Barhwi  Bridge,  and  she  said  that  I  was 
greater  than   mortal   man,   for  none   may 

*  I  erieve  to  say  that  the  Warden  of  the  Barhwi 
Forrl  is  responsible  here  for  two  very  bad  puns  in 
the  vernacular. — R.  K. 


In  Flood  Time  loi 

cross  the  Barhvvi  in  full  flood,  and  I  had 
seen  what  never  man  had  seen  before. 
Hand  in  hand  we  went  to  the  knoll  where 
the  dead  lay,  and  I  showed  her  by  what 
liclp  I  had  made  the  ford.  She  looked  also 
upon  the  body  under  the  stars,  for  the  lat- 
ter end  of  the  night  was  clear,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  crying:  ''It  is  the  body 
of  Hirnam  Singh!  "  I  said:  ''  The  swine  is 
of  more  use  dead  than  living,  my  beloved," 
and  she  said:  "  Surely,  for  he  has  saved  the 
dearest  life  in  the  world  to  my  love.  None 
the  less,  he  can  not  stay  here,  for  that 
would  bring  shame  upon  me."  The  body 
was  not  a  gunshot  from  her  door. 

Then  said  I,  rolling  the  body  with  my 
hands:  "  God  hath  judged  between  us,  Hir- 
nam Singh,  that  thy  blood  might  not  be 
upon  my  head.  Now,  whether  I  have  done 
thee  a  wrong  in  keeping  thee  from  the 
burning-ghat,  do  thou  and  the  crows  settle 
together."  So  I  cast  him  adrift  into  the 
flood-water,  and  he  was  drav/n  out  to  the 
open,  ever  wagging  his  thick  black  beard 
like  a  priest  under  the  pulpit-board.  And 
I  sav/  no  more  of  Hirnam  Singh. 

Before  the  breaking  of  the  day  we  two 
parted,  and  I  moved  toward  such  of  the 
jungle  as  was  not  flooded.  With  the  full 
light  I  saw  what  I  had  done  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  the  bones  of  my  body  were 
loosened  in  my  flesh,  for  there  ran  two  kos 


I02       In  Black  and  White 

of  raging  water  between  the  village  of  Pa- 
teera  and  the  trees  of  the  far  bank,  and, 
in  the  middle,  the  piers  of  the  Barhwi 
Bridge  showed  like  broken  teeth  in  the  jaw 
of  an  old  man.  Nor  was  there  any  life 
upon  the  waters  —  neither  birds  nor  JDoats, 
but  only  an  army  of  drowned  things  —  bul- 
locks and  horses  and  men  —  and  the  river 
was  redder  than  blood  from  the  clay  of  the 
foot-hills.  Never  had  I  seen  such  a  flood 
—  never  since  that  year  have  I  seen  the 
like  —  and,  oh,  sahib,  no  man  living  had 
done  v/hat  I  had  done.  There  was  no  re- 
turn for  me  that  day.  Not  for  all  the  lands 
of  the  headman  would  I  venture  a  second 
time  without  the  shield  of  darkness  that 
cloaks  danger.  I  went  a  kos  up  the  river 
to  the  house  of  a  blacksmith,  saying  that 
the  flood  had  swept  me  from  my  hut,  and 
they  gave  me  food.  Seven  days  I  stayed 
with  the  blacksmith,  till  a  boat  came  and  I 
returned  to  my  house.  There  was  no  trace 
of  wall,  or  roof,  or  floor  —  naught  but  a 
patch  of  slimy  mud.  Judge,  therefore,  sa- 
hib, how  far  the  river  m.ust  have  risen.  It 
was  wTitten  that  I  should  not  die  either  in 
my  house,  or  in  the  heart  of  the  Barhwi,  or 
under  the  wreck  of  the  Barhwi  Bridge,  for 
God  sent  down  Hirnam  Singh  two  days 
dead,  though  I  know  not  how  the  man  died, 
to  be  my  buoy  and  support.  Hirnam  Singh 
has  been  in  hell  these  twenty  years,  and  the 


In  Flood  Time  103 

thought  of  that  night  must  be  the  flower 
of  his  torment. 

Listen,  sahib!  The  river  has  changed  tts 
voice.  It  is  going  to  sleep  before  the  dawn, 
to  which  there  is  yet  one  hour.  With  the 
hght  it  will  come  down  afresh.  How  do 
I  know?  Have  I  been  here  thirty  years 
witliout  knowing  the  voice  of  the  river  as 
a  father  knows  the  voice  of  his  son?  Every 
moment  it  is  talking  less  angrily.  I  swear 
that  there  will  be  no  danger  for  one  hour 
or,  perhaps,  two.  I  can  not  answer  for  the 
morning.  Be  quick,  sahib!  I  will  call 
Ram  Pershad,and  he  will  not  turn  back  this 
time.  Is  the  'paulin  tightly  corded  upon 
all  the  baggage?  Ohe,  mahout  with  a  m.ud 
head,  the  elephant  for  the  sahib,  and  tell 
them  on  the  far  side  that  there  will  be  no 
crossing  after  daylight. 

Money?  Nay,  sahib.  I  am  not  of  that 
kind.  No  not  even  to  give  sweetmeats  to 
the  baby-folk.  My  house,  look  you,  is 
emptv,  and  I  am  an  old  man. 

Duit,  Ram  Pershad!  Dntt!  Duff!  Dutt} 
Good  luck  go  with  you,  sahib. 


THE  SENDING  OF  DANA  DA 


When  the  Devil  rides  on  your  chest  remember 
the  cha7nar. — Native  Proverb. 

Once  upon  a  time,  some  people  in  India 
made  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  out 
of  broken  tea-cups,  a  missing  brooch  or 
two,  and  a  hair-brush.  These  were  hidden 
under  bushes,  or  stuffed  into  holes  in  the 
hill-side,  and  an  entire  civil  service  of  sub- 
ordinate gods  used  to  find  or  mend  thern 
again ;  and  every  one  said :  "  There  are  more 
things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are 
dreamed  of  in  our  philosophy."  Several 
other  things  happened  also,  but  the  religion 
never  seemed  to  get  much  beyond  its  first 
manifestations;  though  it  added  an  air-line 
postal  dak,  and  orchestral  eiifects  in  order 
to  keep  abreast  of  the  times,  and  stall  Oiif 
competition. 

This  religion  was  too  elastic  for  ordinary 
use.  It  stretched  itself  and  embraced  pieces 
of  everything  that  medicine-men  of  all  ages 
have  manufactured.  It  approved  of  and 
stole  from  Freemasonry;  looted  the  Latter- 
104 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     1 05 

day  Rosicrucians  of  half  their  pet  words; 
took  any  fragments  of  Egyptian  philosophy 
that  it  found  in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britan- 
nica;  annexed  as  many  of  the  Vedas  as  had 
been  translated  into  French  or  English, 
and  talked  of  all  the  rest;  built  in  the  Ger- 
man versions  of  what  is  left  of  the  Zend 
Avesta;  encouraged  white,  gray  and  black 
magic,  including  Spiritualism,  palmistry, 
fortune-telling  by  cards,  hot  chestnuts, 
double-kerneled  nuts  and  tallow  droppings; 
would  have  adopted  Voodoo  and  Oboe  had 
it  known  anything  about  them,  and  showed 
itself,  m  every  way,  one  of  the  most  ac- 
commodating arrangements  that  had  ever 
been  invented  since  the  birth  of  the  sea. 

When  it  was  in  thorough  working  order, 
with  all  the  machinery  down  to  the  sub- 
scriptions complete,  Dana  Da  came  from 
nowhere,  with  nothing  in  his  hands,  and 
wrote  a  chapter  in  its  history  which  has 
hitherto  been  unpublished.  He  said  that 
his  first  name  was  Dana,  and  his  second 
was  Da.  Now,  setting  aside  Dana  of  the 
New  York  "  Sun,"  Dana  is  a  Bhil  name, 
and  Da  fits  no  native  of  India  unless  you 
accept  the  Bengali  De  as  the  original  spell- 
ing. Da  is  Lap  or  Finnish;  and  Dana  Da 
was  neither  Finn,  Chin,  Bhil,  Bengali,  Lap, 
Nair,  Gond,  Rom.aney,  ?,[agh,  Bokhariotj 
Kurd,  Armenian,  Levantine,  Jew,  Persian, 
Punjabi,  Madrasi,  Parsee,  nor  anything  els<= 


io6       In  Black  and  White 

known  to  ethnologists.  Ke  was  simply 
Dana  Da,  and  declined  tc  give  further  in- 
formation. For  the  sake  of  brevity,  and  as 
roughly  indicating  his  origin,  he  was  called 
'■  The  Native."  He  might  have  been  the 
original  Old  Man  of  the  Mountains,  who  is 
said  to  be  the  only  authorized  head  of  the 
Tea-cup  Creed.  Some  people  said  that  he 
was;  but  Dana  Da  used  to  smile  and  deny 
any  connection  with  the  cult;  explaining 
that  he  was  an  "  independent  experi- 
mxCnter." 

As  I  have  said,  he  came  from  nowhere, 
with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  studied 
the  creed  for  three  weeks;  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  those  best  competent  to  explain  its 
mysteries.  Then  he  laughed  aloud  and 
went  away,  but  the  laugh  might  have  been 
either  of  devotion  or  derision. 

When  he  returned  he  was  without 
money,  but  his  pride  was  unabated.  He 
declared  that  he  knew  more  about  the 
things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  those  who 
taught  him,  and  for  this  contumacy  was 
abandoned  altogether. 

His  next  appearance  In  public  life  was 
at  a  big  cantonment  in  Upper  India,  and 
he  was  then  telling  fortunes  wuth  the  help 
of  three  leaden  dice,  a  very  dirty  old  cloth, 
and  a  little  tin  box  of  opium  pills.  He  told 
better  fortunes  when  he  was  allowed  half 
a  bottle  of  whisky;  but  the  things  which  he 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da    107 

invented  on  the  opium  were  quite  worth 
the  money.  He  was  in  reduced  circum- 
stances. Among  other  people's  he  told  the 
fortune  of  an  Englishman  who  had  once 
been  interested  in  the  Simla  creed,  bui  who, 
later  on,  had  married  and  forgotten  all  his 
old  knowledge  in  the  study  of  babies  and 
Exchange.  The  Englishman  allowed  Dana 
Da  to  tell  a  fortune  for  charity's  sake,  and 
gave  him  five  rupees,  a  dinner,  and  some 
old  clothes.  When  he  had  eaten,  Dana  Da 
professed  gratitude,  and  asked  if  there  were 
anything  he  could  do  for  his  host  —  in  the 
esoteric  line. 

"Is  there  any  one  that  you  love?"  said 
Dana  Da.  The  Englishm.an  loved  his  wife, 
but  had  no  desire  to  drag  her  name  into 
the  conversation.  He  therefore  shook  his 
head. 

"Is  there  any  one  that  you  hate?"  said 
Dana  Da.  The  Englishman  said  that  there 
were  several  men  whom  he  hated  deeply. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Dana  Da,  upon  whom 
the  whisky  and  the  opium  were  beginning 
to  tell.  "  Only  give  me  their  names,  and 
I  will  dispatch  a  Sending  to  them  and  kill 
them." 

Now  a  Sending  is  a  horrible  arrange- 
ment, first  invented,  they  say,  in  Iceland. 
It  is  a  thing  sent  by  a  wizard,  and  may  take 
any  form,  but,  most  generally  wanders 
about  the  land  in  the  shape  of  a  little  purple 


To3        In  Black  and  White 

cloud  till  it  finds  the  sendee,  and  him  it 
kills  by  changing  into  the  form  of  a  horse, 
or  a  cat,  or  a  man  without  a  face.  It  is  not 
strictly  a  native  patent,  though  chamars  can, 
if  irritated,  dispatch  a  Sending  which  sits 
on  the  breast  of  their  enemy  by  night  and 
nearly  kills  him.  Very  few  natives  care 
to  irritate  chamars  for  this  reason. 

'*  Let  me  dispatch  a  Sending,"  said  Dana 
Da;  "  I  am  nearly  dead  now  with  want,  and 
drink,  and  opium;  but  I  should  Hke  to  kill 
a  man  before  I  die.  I  can  send  a  Sending 
anywhere  you  choose,  and  in  any  form  ex- 
cept in  the  shape  of  a  man." 

The  Englishman  had  no  friends  that  he 
wished  to  kill,  but  partly  to  soothe  Dana 
Da,  whose  eyes  were  rolling,  and  partly 
to  see  what  would  be  done,  he  asked 
whether  a  modified  Sending  could  not  be 
arranged  for  —  such  a  Sending  as  should 
make  a  man's  life  a  burden  to  him,  and  yet 
do  him  no  harm.  If  this  were  possible, 
he  notified  his  willingness  to  give  Dana 
Da  ten  rupees  for  the  job. 

''  I  am  not  what  I  was  once."  said  Dana 
Da,  "  and  I  must  take  the  money  because 
I  am  poor.  To  what  Englishman  shall  I 
send  it?  " 

'*  Send  a  Sending  to  Lone  Sahib,"  said 
the  Englishman,  naming  a  man  who  had 
been  most  bitter  in  rebuking  him  for  his 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     109 

apostasy  from  the  Tea-cup  Creed.  Dana 
Da  laughed  and  nodded. 

"  I  could  have  chosen  no  better  man 
myself,"  said  he.  "  I  will  see  that  he  finds 
the  Sending  about  his  path  and  about  his 
bed." 

He  lay  down  on  the  hearth-rug,  turned 
up  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  shivered  all  over 
and  began  to  snort.  This  was  magic,  or 
opium,  or  the  Sending,  or  all  three.  When 
he  opened  his  eyes  he  vowed  that  the 
Sending  had  started  upon  the  warpath,  and 
was  at  that  moment  flying  up  to  the  town 
where  Lone  Sahib  lives. 

"  Give  me  my  ten  rupees,"  said  Dana 
Da,  wearily,  "  and  write  a  letter  to  Lone 
Sahib,  telHng  him,  and  all  who  believe  v;ith 
him,  that  you  and  a  friend  are  using  a 
power  greater  than  theirs.  They  will  see 
that  you  are  speaking  the  truth." 

He  departed  unsteadily,  with  the  promise 
of  some  more  rupees  if  anything  came  of 
the  Sending. 

The  Englishman  sent  a  letter  to  Lone 
Sahib,  couched  in  what  he  remembered  of 
the  terminology  of  the  creed.  He  wrote: 
"  I  also,  in  the  days  of  what  you  held  to 
be  my  backsliding,  have  obtained  enlight- 
enment, and  with  enlightenment  has  come 
power."  Then  he  grew  so  deeply  mys- 
terious that  the  recipient  of  the  letter  would 
make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it,  and  was 


no      In  Black  and  White 

proportionately  impressed;  for  he  fancied 
that  his  friend  had  become  a  "  fifth- 
rounder.''  When  a  man  is  a  "  fifth- 
rounder  "  he  can  do  more  than  Slade  and 
Houdin  combined. 

Lone  Sahib  read  the  letter  in  five  dififer- 
ent  fashions,  and  was  beginning  a  sixth 
interpretation  when  his  bearer  dashed  in 
with  the  news  that  there  was  a  cat  on  the 
bed.  Now,  if  there  was  one  thing  that 
Lone  Sahib  hated  more  than  another  it  was 
a  cat.  He  rated  the  bearer  for  not  turning 
it  out  of  the  house.  The  bearer  said  that 
he  was  afraid.  All  the  doors  of  the  bed- 
room had  been  shut  throughout  the  morn- 
ing, and  no  real  cat  could  possibly  have 
entered  the  room.  He  would  prefer  not  to 
meddle  with  the  creature. 

Lone  Sahib  entered  the  room  gingerly, 
and  there,  on  the  pillow  of  his  bed, 
sprawled  and  whimpered  a  wee  white  kit- 
ten, not  a  jumpsonie,  frisky  little  beast,  but 
a  slug-like  crawler  with  his  eyes  barely 
opened  and  its  paws  lacking  strength  or 
direction  —  a  kitten  that  ought  to  have 
been  in  a  basket  with  its  mamma.  Lone 
Sahib  caught  it  by  the  scruff  of  its  neck, 
handed  it  over  to  the  sweeper  to  be 
drowned,  and  fined  the  bearer  four  annas. 
That  evening,  as  he  was  reading  in  his 
room,  he  fancied  that  he  sav/  something 
moving  about  on  the  hearth-rug,  outside 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da    1 1 1 

the  circle  of  light  from  his  reading-lamp. 
When  the  thing  began  to  myowl,  he  re- 
alized that  it  was  a  kitten  —  a  wee  white 
kitten,  nearly  blind  and  very  miserable. 
He  was  seriously  angry,  and  spoke  bitterly 
to  his  bearer,  who  said  that  there  was  no 
kitten  in  the  room  when  he  brought  in  the 
lamp,  and  real  kittens  of  tender  age  gen- 
erally had  mother-cats  in  attendance. 

"  If  the  Presence  will  go  out  into  the 
veranda  and  listen,"  said  the  bearer,  ''  he 
will  hear  no  cats.  How,  therefore,  can 
the  kitten  on  the  bed  and  the  kitten  on  the 
hearth-rug  be  real  kittens?" 

Lone  Sahib  went  out  to  listen,  and  the 
bearer  followed  him,  but  there  w^as  no 
sound  of  Rachel  mewing  for  her  children. 
He  returned  to  his  room,  having  hurled 
the  kitten  down  the  hill-side,  and  wrote 
out  the  incidents  of  the  day  for  the  benefit 
of  his  coreligionists.  Those  people  were 
so  absolutely  free  from  superstition  that 
they  ascribed  anything  a  little  out  of  the 
common  to  agencies.  As  it  was  their  bu'~i- 
ness  to  know  all  about  the  agencies,  they 
were  on  terms  of  almost  indecent  familiar- 
ity with  manifestations  of  every  kind. 
Their  letters  dropped  from  the  ceiling  — 
unstamiped  —  and  spirits  used  to  squatter 
up  and  down  their  staircases  all  night. 
But  they  had  never  come  into  contact  with 
kittens. 


{12      In  Black  and  White 

noting  the  hour  and  the  minute,  as  every 
psychical  observer  is  bound  to  do,  and  ap- 
pending the  Englishman's  letter  because  it 
was  the  most  mysterious  document  and 
might  have  had  a  bearing  upon  anything 
in  this  world  or  the  next.  An  outsider 
would  have  translated  all  the  tangle  thus: 
"  Look  out!  You  laughed  at  me  once,  and 
now  I  am  going  to  make  you  sit  up."' 

Lone  Sahib's  coreligionists  found  that 
meaning  in  it;  but  their  translation  was 
refined  and  full  of  four-syllable  words. 
They  held  a  sederunt,  and  were  filled  with 
tremulous  joy,  for,  in  spite  of  their  famil- 
iarity with  all  the  other  worlds  and  cycles, 
they  had  a  very  human  awe  of  things  sent 
from  ghost-land.  They  met  in  Lone 
Sahib's  room  in  shrouded  and  sepulchral 
gloom,  and  their  conclave  was  broken  up 
by  a  clinking  among  the  photo-frames  on 
the  mantel-piece.  A  wee  white  kitten, 
nearly  blind,  was  looping  and  writhing 
itself  betv:een  the  clock  and  the  candle- 
sticks. That  stopped  all  investigations  or 
doubtings.  Here  was  the  manifestation  in 
the  flesh.  It  was,  so  far  as  could  be  seen, 
devoid  of  purpose,  but  it  was  a  manifesta- 
tion of  undoubted  authenticity. 

They  drafted  a  round  robin  to  the  Eng- 
lishman, the  backslider  of  old  days,  adjur- 
ing him  in  the  interests  of  the  creed  to 
explain  whether  there  was  any  connection 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     113 

between  the  embodiment  of  some  Egyptian 
god  or  other  (I  have  forgotten  the  name) 
and  his  commAmication.  They  called  the 
kitten  Ra,  or  Toth,  or  Shem,,  or  Noah,  or 
something;  ^nd  when  Lone  Sahib  con- 
fessed that  the  first  one  had,  at  his  most 
misguided  instance,  been  drowned  by  the 
sweeper,  they  said  consolingly  that  in  his 
next  life  he  would  be  a  ''  bounder,''  and 
not  even  a  "  rounder  "  of  the  lowest  grade. 
These  words  rnay  not  be  quite  correct,  but 
ihey  express  the  sense  of  the  house 
accurately. 

When  the  Englishman  received  the 
round  robin  —  it  came  by  post  —  he  was 
startled  and  bewildered.  He  sent  into  the 
bazaar  for  Dana  Da,  who  read  the  letter 
and  laughed.  "  That  is  my  Sending,"  s?.:d 
he.  "  I  told  you  I  would  work  well.  No  .v 
give  me  another  ten  rupees." 

"  But  what  in  the  world  is  this  gibberish 
about  Egyptian  gods?"  asked  the  Eng- 
lishman. 

"  Cats,"  said  Dana  Da,  with  a  hiccough, 
for  he  had  discovered  the  Englishman's 
whisky  bottle.  "  Cats  and  cats  and  cats ! 
Never  was  such  a  Sending.  A  hundred  of 
cats.  Now  give  m.e  ten  more  rupees  and 
write  as  I  dictate." 

Dana  Da's  letter  was  a  curiosity.  It 
bore  the  Englishman's  signature,  and 
hinted  at  cats  —   a  Sending  of  cats.     The 


114      In  Black  and  White 

mere  words  on  paper  were  creepy  and  un- 
canny to  behold. 

''What  have  you  done,  though?"  said 
the  EngHshman;  "  I  am  as  much  in  the 
dark  as  ever.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  can  actually  send  this  absurd  Sending 
you  talk  about?  " 

"  Judge  for  yourself,"  said  Dana  Da. 
"What  does  that  letter  mean?  In  a  little 
time  they  will  be  all  at  my  feet  and  yours. 
and  I,  oh,  glory!  will  be  drugged  or  drunk 
all  day  long." 

Dana  Da  knew  his  people. 

When  a  man  who  hates  cats  wakes  up 
m  the  morning  and  finds  a  little  squirming 
kitten  on  his  breast,  or  puts  his  hand  into 
his  ulster-pocket  and  finds  a  little  half- 
dead  kitten  where  his  gloves  should  be,  or 
opens  his  trunk  and  finds  a  vile  kitcen 
among  his  dress-shirts,  or  goes  for  a  long 
ride  with  his  mackintosh  strapped  on  his 
saddle-bow  and  shakes  a  little  squav*iing 
kitten  from  its  folds  when  he  opens  it,  or 
goes  out  to  dinner  and  finds  a  little  blind 
kitten  under  his  chair,  or  stays  at  home  and 
finds  a  writhing  kitten  under  the  quilt,  or 
wriggling  among  his  boots,  or  hanging, 
head  downward,  in  his  tobacco-jar,  or  being 
mangled  by  his  terrier  in  the  veranda  — 
when  such  a  m.an  finds  one  kitten,  neither 
more  nor  less,  once  a  day  in  a  place  where 
no  kitten  rightly  could  or  should  be,  he  is 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     115 

naturally  upset.  When  he  dare  not  mur- 
der his  daily  trove  because  he  believes  it 
to  be  a  manifestation,  an  emissary,  an  em- 
bodiment, and  half  a  dozen  other  things  all 
out  of  the  regular  course  of  nature,  he  is 
more  than  upset.  He  is  actually  distressed. 
Some  of  Lone  Sahib's  coreligionists 
thought  that  he  was  a  highly  favored  indi- 
vidual; but  many  said  that  if  he  had  treated 
the  first  kitten  with  proper  respect  —  as 
suited  a  Toth-Ra-Tum-Sennacherib  Em- 
bodiment —  all  this  trouble  would  have 
been  averted.  They  compared  him  to  the 
Ancient  ]\Iariner,  but  none  the  less  the^' 
were  proud  of  him.  and  proud  of  the  Eng- 
lishman who  had  sent  the  manifestation. 
Tliey  did  not  call  it  a  Sending  because  Ice- 
landic magic  was  not  in  their  programme. 
After  sixteen  kittens  —  that  is  to  say, 
after  one  fortnight,  for  there  were  three 
kittens  on  the  first  day  to  impress  the  fact 
of  the  Sending,  the  whole  camp  was  up- 
lifted by  a  letter  —  it  cam.e  flying  through 
a  Vv'indow  —  from  the  Old  Man  of  the 
Mountains  —  the  head  of  all  the  creed  — 
explaining  the  manifestation  in  the  most 
beautiful  language  and  soaking  up  all  the 
credit  of  it  for  himself.  The  Englishman, 
said  the  letter,  was  not  there  at  all.  He 
was  a  backslider  v.ithout  power  or  asceti- 
cism, who  couldn't  even  raise  a  table  by 
force  of  volition,  much  less  project  an  army 


n  6       In  Black  and  White 

of  kittens  through  space.  The  entire  ar- 
rangement, said  the  letter,  was  strictly  or- 
thodox, worked  and  sanctioned  by  the 
highest  authorities  within  the  pale  of  the 
creed.  There  was  great  joy  at  this,  for 
some  of  the  weaker  brethren  seeing  that 
an  outsider  who  had  been  working  on  in- 
dependent lines  could  create  kittens, 
whereas  their  own  rules  had  never  gone  be- 
yond crockery  —  and  broken  at  that  — 
were  showing  a  desire  to  break  line  on  their 
own  trail.  In  fact,  there  was  the  promise 
of  a  schism.  A  second  round  robin  was 
drafted  to  the  Englishman,  beginning: 
"  Oh,  Scoffer,"  and  ending  with  a  selection 
of  curses  from  the  rites  of  Mizraim  and 
Memphis  and  the  Commination  of  Jugana 
who  was  a  "  fifth-rounder,"  upon  whose 
name  an  upstart  "  third-rounder "  once 
traded.  A  papal  excommunication  is  a 
hillct-doiLv  compared  to  the  Commination  of 
Jugana.  The  Englishman  had  been  proved 
under  the  hand  and  seal  of  the  Old  ^^lan 
of  the  }^Iountains  to  have  appropriated  vir- 
tue and  pretended  to  have  pov/er  which,  in 
reality,  belonged  only  to  the  supreme  head. 
Naturally  the  round  robin  did  not  spare 
him.. 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Dana  Da  to 
translate  into  decent  English.  The  effect 
on  Dana  Da  was  curious.     At  first  he  was 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     117 

furiously  angry,  and  then  he  laughed  for 
five  minutes, 

"  I  had  thought,"  he  said,  "  that  they 
would  have  come  to  me.  In  another  week 
I  would  have  shown  that  I  sent  the  Send- 
ing, and  they  would  have  discrowned  the 
Old  ]\lan  of  the  ^Mountains  w'ho  has  sent 
this  Sending  of  mine.  Do  you  do  nothing? 
The  time  has  come  for  me  to  act.  Write 
as  I  dictate,  and  I  will  put  them  to  shame. 
But  give  me  ten  more  rupees." 

At  Dana  Da's  dictation  the  Englishman 
wrote  nothing  less  than  a  formal  challenge 
to  the  Old  Man  of  the  3.Iountains.  It 
wound  up:  "And  if  this  manifestation  be 
from  your  hand,  then  let  it  go  forward:  but 
if  it  be  from  my  hand,  I  will  that  the  Send- 
ing shall  cease  in  tvro  days'  time.  On  that 
day  there  shall  be  twelve  kittens  and  thence- 
forward none  at  all.  The  people  shall  judge 
between  us."  This  was  signed  by  Dana  Da, 
who  added  pentacles  and  pentagrams,  and 
a  cruA'  ojisafa,  and  half  a  dozen  szi'astikas, 
and  a  Triple  Tau  to  his  name,  just  to  show 
that  he  was  all  he  laid  claim  to  be. 

The  challenge  was  read  out  to  the  gentle- 
men and  ladies,  and  they  remembered  then 
that  Dana  Da  had  laughed  at  them  some 
years  ago.  It  was  officially  announced  that 
the  Old  yidLU  of  the  ^Mountains  would  treat 
the  matter  with  contem^pt:  Dana  Da  being 
an  independent  investigator  without  a  sin- 


1 1 8        In  Black  and  White 

gle  "  round  "  at  the  back  of  him.  But  this 
did  not  soothe  his  people.  They  wanted 
to  see  a  fight.  They  were  very  human  for 
all  their  spirituality.  Lone  Sahib,  who  was 
really  being  worn  out  with  kittens,  submit- 
ted meekly  to  his  fate.  He  felt  that  he  was 
being  "  kittened  to  prove  the  pov/er  of 
Dana  Da,"  as  the  poet  says. 

When  the  stated  day  dawned,  the 
shower  of  kittens  began.  Some  were  white 
and  some  were  tabby,  and  all  were  about 
the  sam.e  loathsome  age.  Three  w^ere  on 
his  hearth-rug,  three  in  his  bath-room,  and 
the  other  six  turned  up  at  intervals  among 
the  visitors  who  came  to  see  the  prophecy 
break  down.  Never  was  a  more  satisfac- 
tory Sending.  On  the  next  day  there  were 
no  kittens,  and  the  next  day  and  all  the 
other  days  were  kittenless  and  quiet.  The 
people  murmured  and  looked  to  the  Old 
Man  of  the  Mountains  for  an  explanation. 
A  letter,  written  on  a  palm-leaf,  dropped 
from  the  ceiling,  but  every  one  except  Lone 
Sahib  felt  that  letters  were  not  what  the 
occasion  demanded.  There  should  have 
been  cats,  there  should  have  been  cats  — 
full-grown  ones.  The  letter  proved  con- 
clusively that  there  had  been  a  hitch  in  the 
psychic  current  which,  colliding  with  a 
dual  identity,  had  interfered  with  the  per- 
cipient activity  all  along  the  main  line.  The 
kittens  were  still  going  on,  but  owing  to 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     1 1 9 

some  failure  in  the  developing  fluid,  they 
were  not  materialized.  The  air  was  thick 
with  letters  for  a  few  days  afterward.  Un- 
seen hands  played  Gliick  and  Beethoven  on 
finger-bowls  and  clock-shades;  but  all  men 
felt  that  psychic  life  was  a  mockery  without 
materialized  kittens.  Even  Lone  Sahib 
shouted  with  the  majority  on  this  head. 
Dana  Da's  letters  were  very  insulting,  and 
if  he  had  then  offered  to  lead  a  new  depart- 
ure, there  is  no  knowing  what  might  not 
have  happened. 

But  Dana  Da  was  dying  of  whisky  and 
opium  in  the  Englishman's  godown,  and 
had  small  heart  for  new  creeds. 

''  They  have  been  put  to  shame,"  said  he. 
"  Never  was  such  a  Sending.  It  has  killed 
me." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  Englishman,  "  you 
are  going  to  die,  Dana  Da,  and  that  sort 
of  stuff  must  be  left  behind.  I'll  admit  that 
you  have  made  some  queer  things  come 
about.  Tell  me  honestly,  now,  how  was  it 
done?" 

"  Give  me  ten  more  rupees,"  said  Dana 
Da,  faintly,  "  and  if  I  die  before  I  spend 
them,  bury  them  with  me."  The  silver  was 
counted  out  while  Dana  Da  was  fighting 
with  death.  His  hand  closed  upon  the 
money  and  he  smiled  a  grim  smile. 

"  Bend  low,"  he  whispered.  The  Eng- 
lishman bent. 


1  io       In  Black  and  White 

"  Bunnia  —  mission-school  —  expelled  — 
box-wallah  (peddler)  —  Ceylon  pearl-mer- 
chant —  all  mine  English  education  —  out- 
casted,  and  made  up  name  Dana  Da  — 
England  with  American  thought-reading 
man  and  —  and  —  you  gave  me  ten  rupees 
several  times  —  I  gave  the  Sahib's  bearer 
two-eight  a  month  for  cats  —  little,  little 
cats.  I  wrote,  and  he  put  them  about  — 
very  clever  man.  Very  few  kittens  now'  in 
the  bazaar.  Ask  Lone  Sahib's  sweeoer's 
wife." 

So  saying,  Dana  Da  gasped  and  passed 
away  into  a  land  where,  if  all  be  true,  there 
are  no  materializations  and  the  making  of 
new  creeds  is  discouraged. 

But  consider  the  gorgeous  simplicity  of 
it  all! 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL 


Then  she  let  them  down  by  a  cord  through  the 
window;  for  her  house  was  upon  the  town  wall, 
and  she  dwtk  upon  the  wall. — Joshua  ii    15. 

Lalun  is  a  member  of  the  most  ancient 
profession  in  the  world.  Lilith  was  her 
very-great-grandmamma,  and  that  was  be- 
fore the  days  of  Eve  as  every  one  knows. 
In  the  West,  people  say  rude  things  about 
Lalun's  profession,  and  write  lectures 
about  it,  and  distribute  the  lectures  to 
young  persons  in  order  that  morality  may 
be  preserved.  In  the  East,  where  the  pro- 
fession is  hereditary,  descending  from 
mother  to  daughter,  nobody  writes  lectures 
or  takes  any  notice,  and  that  is  a  distinct 
proof  of  the  inability  of  the  East  to  manage 
its  own  affairs. 

Lalun's  real  husband,  for  even  ladies  of 
Lalun's  profession  in  the  East  must  have 
husbands,  was  a  great,  big  jujube-tree. 
Her  mamma,  who  had  married  a  fig,  spent 
ten  thousand  rupees  on  Lalun's  wedding, 
which  was  blessed  by  forty-seven  clergy- 
men of  mamma's  church,  and  distributed 


122        In  Black  and  White 

five  thousand  rupees  in  charity  to  the  poon 
And  that  was  the  custom  of  the  land.  The 
advantages  of  having  a  jujube-tree  for  a 
husband  are  obvious.  You  can  not  hurt 
his  feehngs,  and  he  looks  imposing. 

Lalun's  husband  stood  on  the  plain  out- 
side the  city  vralls,  and  Lalun's  house  was 
upon  the  east  wall  facing  the  river.  If  you 
fell  from  the  broad  window-seat  you 
dropped  thirty  feet  sheer  into  the  city 
ditch.  But  if  you  stayed  where  you  should 
and  looked  forth,  you  saw  all  the  cattle  of 
the  city  being  driven  down  to  water,  the 
students  of  the  government  college  playing 
cricket,  the  hieh  grass  and  trees  that 
fringed  the  river -bank,  the  great  sand-bars 
that  ribbed  the  river,  the  red  tombs  of  dead 
emperors  beyond  the  river,  and  very  far 
away  through  the  blue  heat-haze,  a  glint 
of  the  snows  of  the  Him.alayas. 

Wali  Dad  used  to  lie  in  the  window-seat 
for  hours  at  a  time  v/atching  this  view.  He 
w^as  a  young  Mohammedan  who  was  suf- 
fering acutely  from  education  of  the  Eng- 
lish variety  and  knew  it.  His  father  had 
sent  him  to  a  m.ission-school  to  get  wis- 
dom, and  AVali  Dad  had  absorbed  more 
than  ever  his  father  or  the  missionaries 
intended  he  should.  When  his  father  died, 
\A'ali  Dad  was  independent  and  spent  two 
3'ears  experimenting  with  the  creeds  of  the 


On  the  City  Wall         123 

earth  and  reading  books  that  are  of  no  use 
to  anybody. 

After  he  had  made  an  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  enter  the  Roman  CathoHc  Church 
and  the  Presbyterian  fold  at  the  same  time 
(the  missionaries  found  him  out  and  called 
himx  names,  but  they  didn't  understand  iiis 
trouble),  he  discovered  Lalun  on  the  city 
wall  and  became  the  m.ost  constant  of  her 
few  admirers.  Pie  possessed  a  head  that 
English  artists  at  home  would  rave  over 
and  paint  amid  imxposslble  surroundings  — 
a  face  that  female  novelists  would  use  v/ith 
delight  through  nine  hundred  pages.  In 
reality  he  was  only  a  clean-bred  young 
?^iohammedan,  with  penciled  eyebrows, 
small-cut  nostrils,  little  feet  and  hands,  and 
a  very  tired  look  in  his  eyes.  By  virtue  of 
his  tvv'enty-two  years  he  had  grown  a  neat 
black  beard  which  he  stroked  v/ith  pride 
and  kept  delicately  scented.  His  life 
seemed  to  be  divided  between  borrowing 
books  from  me  and  making  love  to  Lalun 
in  the  v/indow-seat.  He  composed  songs 
about  her,  and  some  of  the  songs  are  sung 
to  this  day  in  the  city  from  the  s<-reet  of 
the  mutton-butchers  to  the  copper-smith's 
ward. 

One  song,  the  prettiest  of  all,  says  that 
the  beauty  of  Lalun  was  so  great  that  it 
troubled  the  hearts  of  the  British  govern- 
ment and  caused  them  to  lose  their  peace  of 


124        in  Black  and  White 

mind.  That  is  the  way  the  song  is  sung 
in  the  streets:  but,  if  you  examine  it  care- 
fully and  know  the  key  to  the  explana- 
tion, you  will  find  that  there  are  three  puns 
in  it —  on  "  beauty,"  ''  heart,"  and  "  peace 
of  mind" — so  that  it  runs:  *' By  the 
subtlety  of  Lalun  the  administration  of  the 
government  was  troubled  and  it  lost  such 
and  such  a  man."  \\'hen  Wali  Dad  sings 
that  song  his  eyes  glow  like  hot  coals  and 
Lalun  leans  back  among  the  cushions  and 
throws  bunches  of  jasmine  buds  at  Wali 
Dad. 

But  first  it  is  necessary  to  explain  some- 
thing about  the  supreme  government 
v/hich  is  above  all  and  below  all  and  behind 
all.  Gentlemen  come  from  England,  spend 
a  few  v.-eeks  in  India,  walk  round  this 
great  Sphinx  of  the  Plains,  and  write  books 
upon  its  ways  and  its  works,  denouncing 
or  praising  it  as  their  own  ignorance 
prompts.  Consequently  all  the  world 
knows  how  the  supreme  government  con- 
ducts itself.  But  no  one,  not  even  the 
supreme  government,  knows  everything 
about  the  administration  of  the  empire. 
Year  by  year  England  sends  out  fresh 
drafts  for  the  first  hghting-line,  v.-hich  is 
officially  called  the  Indian  Civil  Service. 
These  die,  or  kill  themselves  by  overwork, 
or  are  worried  to  death  or  broken  in  health 
and  hope  in  order  that  the  land  may  be 


On  the  City  Wall  125 

protected  from  death  and  sickness,  famine 
and  war,  and  may  eventually  become  capa- 
ble of  standing  alone.  It  will  never  stand 
alone,  but  the  idea  is  a  pretty  one,  and  men 
are  willing  to  die  for  it,  and  yearly  the 
work  of  pushing  and  coaxing  and  scolding 
and  petting  the  country  into  good  living 
goes  forward.  If  an  advance  be  made  all 
credit  is  given  to  the  native,  while  the 
Englishmen  stand  back  and  wipe  their  fore- 
heads. If  a  failure  occurs  the  English- 
men step  forward  and  take  the  blame. 
Overmuch  tenderness  of  this  kind  has  bred 
a  strong  belief  among  many  natives  that 
the  native  is  capable  of  administering  the 
country,  and  many  devout  Englishmen 
believe  this  also,  because  the  theory  is 
stated  in  beautiful  English  with  all  the 
latest  political  garnish. 

There  be  other  men  who,  though  unedu- 
cated, see  visions  and  dream  dreams,  and 
they,  too,  hope  to  administer  the  country 
in  their  own  way  —  that  is  to  say,  with  a 
garnish  of  red  sauce.  Such  men  must 
exist  among  two  hundred  million  people, 
and,  if  they  are  not  attended  to,  may  cause 
trouble  and  even  break  the  great  idol  called 
"  Pax  Britannic,"  which,  as  the  newspapers 
say,  lives  between  Peshawur  and  Cape 
Comorin.  Were  the  day  of  doom  to  dawn 
to-morrow,  you  would  find  the  supreme 
government    "  taking    measures    to    allay 


126        In  Black  and  White 

popular  excitement  "  and  putting  guards 
upon  the  grave-yards  that  the  dead  might 
troop  forth  orderly.  The  youngest  civilian 
would  arrest  Gabriel  on  his  own  responsi- 
bility if  the  archangel  could  not  produce 
a  deputy  commissioner's  permission  to 
''  make  music  or  other  noises,"  as  the  form 
says. 

Whence  it  is  easy  to  see  that  mere  men  of 
the  flesh  who  would  create  a  tumult  must 
fare  badly  at  the  hands  of  the  supreirie 
government.  And  they  do.  There  is  no 
outward  sign  of  excitement;  there  is  no 
confusion;  there  is  no  knowledge.  When 
due  and  sufficient  reasons  have  been  given, 
weighed  and  approved,  the  machinery 
m.oves  forward,  and  the  dreamer  of  dreams 
and  the  seer  of  visions  is  gone  from  his 
friends  and  foUovving.  He  enjoys  the  hos- 
pitality of  governm.ent;  there  is  no  restric- 
tion upon  his  movements  w^ithin  certain 
limits;  but  he  must  not  confer  any  m.ore 
with  his  brother  dreamers.  Once  in  every 
six  months  the  supreme  government  as- 
sures itself  that  he  is  well  and  takes  form.al 
acknowledgm.ent  of  his  existence.  No  one 
protests  against  his  detention,  because  the 
few  people  who  know  about  it  are  in  deadly 
fear  of  seernins:  to  know  him;  and  never  a 
single  newspaper  "  takes  up  his  case  "  or 
organizes  demonstrations  on  his  behalf, 
because  the  newspapers  of  India  have  got 


On  the  City  Wall  127 

behind  that  lyings  proverb  which  says  the 
pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword,  and  can 
walk  deHcately  and  with  circumspection. 

So  now  you  know  as  much  as  you  ought 
about  Wali  Dad,  the  educational  mixture, 
and  the  supreme  government. 

Lalun  has  not  yet  been  described.  She 
would  need,  so  W'ali  Dad  says,  a  thousand 
pens  of  gold  and  ink  scented  with  musk. 
She  has  been  variously  compared  to  the 
moon,  the  Dil  Sagar  Lake,  a  spotted  ciuail, 
a  gazelle,  the  sun  on  the  Desert  of  Kutch, 
the  dawn,  the  stars,  and  the  young  bamboo. 
These  comparisons  imply  that  she  is  beauti- 
ful exceedingly  according  to  the  native 
standards,  which  are  practically  the  same 
as  those  of  the  West.  Her  eyes  are  black 
and  her  hair  is  black,  and  her  eyebrows 
are  black  as  leeches;  her  mouth  is  tiny  and 
says  witty  things;  her  hands  are  tiny  and 
have  saved  much  money;  her  feet  are  tiny 
and  have  trodden  on  the  naked  hearts  of 
many  men.  But,  as  Wali  Dad  sings: 
''  Lalun  is  Lalun,  and  when  you  have  said 
that,  you  have  only  come  to  the  beginnings 
of  knowledge." 

The  little  house  on  the  city  wall  was  just 
big  enough  to  hold  Lalun,  and  her  maid, 
and  a  pussy-cat  with  a  silver  collar.  A  big 
pink  and  blue  cut-glass  chandelier  hung 
from  the  ceiling  of  the  reception-room.  A 
petty  Xawab  had  given  Lalun  the  horror. 


128      In  Black  and  White 

and  she  kept  it  for  politeness'  sake.  The 
floor  of  the  room  was  of  polished  chunam, 
white  as  curds.  A  latticed  window  of 
carved  wood  was  set  in  one  wall :  there  was 
a  profusion  of  squabby  pluffy  cushions  and 
fat  carpets  everywhere,  and  Lalun's  silver 
hiiqa,  studded  with  turquoises,  had  a  special 
little  carpet  all  to  its  shining  self.  Wali 
Dad  was  nearly  as  permanent  a  fixture  as 
the  chandelier.  As  I  have  said,  he  lay  in 
the  window-seat  and  meditated  on  life  and 
death  and  Lalun  —  'specially  Lalun.  The 
feet  of  the  young  men  of  the  city  tended  to 
her  door- ways  and  then  —  retired,  for  La- 
lun v/as  a  particular  maiden,  slow  of  speech, 
reserved  of  m.ind,  and  not  in  the  least  in- 
clined to  orgies  which  were  nearly  certain 
to  end  in  strife.  ''  If  I  am  of  no  value,  I 
am  unworthy  of  this  honor,"  said  Lalun. 
"  If  I  am  of  value,  they  are  unworthy  of 
me."     And  that  was  a  crooked  sentence. 

In  the  long  hot  nights  of  latter  April  and 
r^Iay  all  the  city  seemed  to  assemble  in  La- 
lun's little  white  room  to  smoke  and  to  talk. 
Shiahs  of  the  grimmest  and  most  uncom- 
promising persuasion;  Sufis  who  had  lost 
all  belief  in  the  Prophet  and  retained  but 
little  in  God;  wandering  Hindoo  priests 
passing  southward  on  their  way  to  the  Cen- 
tral India  fairs  and  other  affairs;  pundits 
in  black  gowns,  with  spectacles  on  their 
noses  and  undigested  wisdom  in  their  in- 


On  the  City  Wall  1 29 

sides;  bearded  headmen  of  the  wards;  Sikhs 
with  all  the  details  of  the  latest  ecclesiastical 
scandal  in  the  Golden  Temple;  red-eyed 
priests  from  beyond  the  border,  looking 
like  trapped  wolves  and  talking  like  ravens; 
'M.  A.'s  of  the  university,  very  superior  and 
very  voluble  —  all  these  people  and  more 
also  you  might  find  in  the  white  room. 
Wali  Dad  lay  in  the  window-seat  and 
listened  to  the  talk, 

''  It  is  Lalun's  salon,"  said  Wali  Dad  to 
me,  '"and  it  is  eclectic  —  is  not  that  the 
word?  Outside  of  a  Freemason's  lodge  I 
have  never  seen  such  gatherings.  There 
I  dined  once  with  a  Jew  —  a  Yahoudi!" 
He  spat  into  the  city  ditch  with  apologies 
for  allowing  national  feelings  to  overcome 
him.  "  Though  I  have  lost  every  belief 
in  the  world,"  said  he,  "  and  try  to  be  proud 
of  my  losing,  I  can  not  help  hating  a  Jew. 
Lalun  admits  no  Jews  here." 

"  But  what  in  the  world  do  all  these  men 
do?"  I  asked. 

"The  curse  of  our  country,"  said  Wall 
Dad.  "They  talk.  It  is  like  the  Atheni- 
ans —  always  hearing  and  telling  some  new 
thing.  Ask  the  Pearl  and  she  will  show 
you  how  much  she  knows  of  the  news  of 
the  city  and  the  province.  Lalun  knows 
everything." 

"Lalun,"  I  said  at  random  —  she  was 
talking  to  a  gentleman  of  the  Kurd  per- 


130       in  Black  and  White 

suasion  who  had  come  in  from  God  knows 
where — "when  does  the  175th  Regiment 
go  to  Agra?  " 

"  It  does  not  go  at  all,"  said  Lalun,  with- 
out turning  her  head.  "  They  have  ordered 
the  118th  to  go  in  its  stead.  That  regiment 
goes  to  Lucknow  in  three  months  unless 
they  give  a  fresh  order." 

"That  is  so,"  said  Wali  Dad,  without  a 
shade  of  doubt.  "  Can  you,  with  your  tele- 
grams and  your  newspapers,  do  better? 
Always  hearing  and  telling  some  new 
thing,"  he  went  on.  "  My  friend,  has  your 
God  ever  smitten  a  European  nation  for 
gossiping  in  the  bazaars?  India  has  gos- 
siped for  centuries  —  always  standing  in 
the  bazaars  until  the  soldiers  go  by. 
Therefore  .  .  .  you  are  here  to-day  in- 
stead of  starving  in  your  own  country,  and 
I  am  not  a  Mohammedan  —  I  am  a  product 
—  a  *  demnition  '  product.  That  also  I  owe 
to  you  and  yours;  that  I  can  not  make  an 
end  to  any  sentence  without  quoting  from 
your  authors."  He  pulled  at  the  huqa  and 
mourned,  half  feelingly,  half  in  earnest,  for 
the  shattered  hopes  of  his  youth.  Wali 
Dad  was  always  mourning  over  something 
or  other  —  the  country  of  which  he  de- 
spaired, or  the  creed  in  which  he  had  lost 
faith,  or  the  life  of  the  English  which  he 
could  by  no  means  understand. 

Lalun  never  mourned.     She  played  little 


On  the  City  Wall  1 3 1 

songs  on  the  sitar,  and  to  hear  her  sing, 
'*  Oh,  Peacock,  Cry  Again,"  was  always  a 
fresh    pleasure.     She    knew   all    the   songs 
that  have  ever  been  sung,  from  the  war- 
songs  of  the  south  that  make  the  old  men 
angry  with  the  young  men  and  the  young 
men  angry  with  the  state,  to  the  love  songs 
of   the   north    where   the   swords    whinny- 
Vvhicker  like  angry  kites  in  the  pauses  be- 
tween the  kisses,  and  the  passes  fill  with 
armed  men,  and  the  lover  is  torn  from  his 
beloved  and  cries  Ai!  Ai!  Ai!  evermore. 
She  knew  how  to  make  up  tobacco  for  the 
huqa  so  that  it  smelled  like  the  gates   of 
paradise   and   wafted   you   gently   through 
them.     She  could  embroider  strange  things 
in  gold  and  silver,  and  dance  softly  with  the 
moonlight  when  it  came  in  at  the  window. 
Also  she  knew  the  hearts  of  men,  and  the 
heart  of  the  city,  and  whose  wives  were 
faithful   and   whose   untrue,   and   more   of 
the  secrets  of  the  government  offices  than 
are  good  to  be  set  down  in  this  place.  Nasi- 
ban,  her  maid,  said  that  her  jewelry  was 
worth    ten    thousand    pounds,    and    that, 
some  night,  a  thief  would  enter  and  murder 
her  for  its  possession;  but  Lalun  said  that 
all  the  city  would  tear  that  thief  limb  from 
limb,  and  that  he,  whoever  he  was,  knew  it. 
So  she  took  her  sifar  and  sat  in  the  win- 
dow-seat and  sung  a  song  of  old  days  that 
had  been  sung  by  a  girl  of  her  profession  in 


132       In  Black  and  White 

an  armed  camp  on  the  eve  of  a  great  battle 

—  the  day  before  the  fords  of  the  Jumna 
ran  red  and  Sivaji  fled  fifty  miles  to  Delhi 
with  a  Toorkh  stahion  at  his  horse's  tail 
and  another  Lalun  on  his  saddle-bovv.  It 
was  what  men  call  a  ]\Iahratta  laoncc,  and  it 
said: 

Their  warrior  forces  Chimnajee 

Before  the  Peishwa  led, 
The  Children  of  the  Sun  and  Fire 

Behind  him  turned  and  fled. 

And  the  chorus  said: 

With  them  there  fought  who  rides  so  free 
With  sword  and  turban  red, 
The  warrior-youth  who  earns  his  fee 

At  peril  of  his  head. 

*'  At  peril  of  his  head,"  said  Wali  Dad  in 
Englisli  to  me.  "  Thanks  to  your  govern- 
ment,, all  our  heads  are  protected,  and  with 
the  educational  facilities  at  my  command  " 

—  his  eyes  twinkled  wickedly  — "  I  m.ight 
be  a  distinguished  member  of  the  local  ad- 
ministration. Perhaps,  in  time,  I  might 
even  be  a  mem.ber  of  a  legislative  council." 

**  Don't  speak  English,"  said  Lalun,  bend- 
ing over  her  sitar  afresh.  The  chorus  went 
out  from  the  city  wall  to  the  blackened  wall 
of  Fort  Amara  vdiich  dominates  the  city. 
No  man  knows  the  precise  extent  of  Fort 
Amara.  Three  kings  built  it  hundreds  of 
years  ?k%o,  and  they  say  that  there  are  miles 


On  the  City  Wall  133 

of  underground  rooms  beneath  its  walls. 
It  is  peopled  with  many  ghosts,  a  detach- 
ment of  garrison  artillery  and  a  company 
of  infantry.  In  its  prime  it  held  ten  thou- 
sand men  and  filled  its  ditches  with  corpses. 

'■  At  peril  of  his  head,"  sung  Lalun  again 
and  again. 

A  head  moved  on  one  of  the  ramparts  — 
the  gray  head  of  an  old  man  —  and  a  voice, 
rough  as  shark-skin  on  a  sword-hilt,  sent 
back  the  last  line  of  the  chorus  and  broke 
into  a  song  that  I  could  not  understand, 
though  Lalun  and  Wali  Dad  Hstened 
intently. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked.     "Who  is  it?'* 

*'  A  consistent  man,"  said  Wali  Dad. 
"  He  fought  you  in  '46,  when  he  was  a 
warrior-youth;  refought  you  in  '57,  and  he 
tried  to  fight  you  in  '71,  but  you  had 
learned  the  trick  of  blowing  men  from  guns 
too  well.  Now  he  is  old;  but  he  would 
still  fight  if  he  could." 

"  Is  he  a  Wahabi,  then?  Why  should 
he  answer  to  a  ^Nlahratta  laonee  if  he  be 
Wahabi  — or  Sihk?  "  said  I. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Wali  Dad.  "  He 
has  lost,  perhaps,  his  religion.  Perhaps  he 
wishes  to  be  a  king.  Perhaps  he  is  a  king. 
I  do  not  know  his  name." 

"  That  is  a  lie,  Wali  Dad.  If  you  know 
his  career  you  must  know  his  name." 

"  That  is  quite  true.     I  belong  to  a  na- 


134       In  Black  and  White 

tion  of  liars.  I  would  rather  not  tell  you 
his  name.     Think  for  yourself." 

Lalun  finished  her  song,  pointed  to  the 
fort  and  said  simply :     ''  Khem  Singh." 

"  H'm,''  said  Wali  Dad.  "  If  the  Pearl 
chooses  to  tell  you  die  Pearl  is  a  fool." 

I  translated  to  Lalun,  who  laughed.  ''  I 
choose  to  tell  what  I  choose  to  tell.  They 
kept  Khem  Singh  in  Burmah,"  said  she. 
*'  They  kept  him  there  for  many  years  until 
his  mind  was  changed  in  him.  So  great 
was  the  kindness  of  the  government. 
Finding  this,  they  sent  him  back  to  his  own 
country  that  he  might  look  upon  it  before 
he  died.  He  is  an  old  man,  but  when  he 
looks  upon  this  his  country  his  memory 
will  come.  INIoreover,  there  be  many  who 
remember  him." 

'  He  is  an  interesting  survival,"  said 
Wali  Dad,  pulling  at  the  hiiqa.  "  He  re- 
turns to  a  country  now  full  of  educational 
and  political  reform,  but,  as  the  Pearl  says, 
there  are  many  who  remember  him.  He 
was  once  a  great  man.  There  will  never 
be  any  more  great  men  in  India.  They 
will  ail  when  they  are  boys,  go  whoring 
after  strange  gods,  and  they  will  become 
citizens  —  '  fellow-citizens  '  —  '  illustrious 
fellow-citizens.'  What  is  it  that  the  native 
papers  call  them?  " 

\A>di  Dad  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  bad 
temper.     Lalun  looked  out  of  the  window 


On  the  City  Wall         135 

and  smiled  into  the  dust-haze.  I  went 
away  thinking  about  Khem  Singh  who  had 
once  made  history  with  a  thousand  follow- 
ers, and  would  have  been  a  princeling  but 
for  the  power  of  the  supreme  government 
aforesaid. 

The  senior  captain  commanding  Fort 
Amara  was  away  on  leave,  but  the  subal- 
tern, his  deputy,  had  drifted  down  to  the 
club,  where  I  found  him  and  inquired  of 
him  whether  it  was  really  true  that  a  politi- 
cal prisoner  had  been  added  to  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  fort.  The  subaltern  explained 
at  great  length,  for  this  was  the  first  time 
that  he  had  held  command  of  the  fort  and 
Iiis  glory  lay  heavy  upon  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  a  man  was  sent  in  to 
me  about  a  week  ago  from  down  the  line 
—  a  thorough  gentleman  whoever  he  is. 
Of  course  I  did  all  I  could  for  him.  He 
had  his  two  servants  and  some  silver  cook- 
ing-pots, and  he  looked  for  all  the  world 
like  a  native  officer.  I  called  him  Subadar 
Sahib;  just  as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side, 
y'know.  '  Look  here,  Subadar  Sahib,'  I 
said,  '  you're  handed  over  to  my  authority^ 
and  I'm  supposed  to  guard  you.  Now  I 
don't  want  to  make  your  life  hard,  but  you 
must  make  things  easy  for  me.  All  the 
fort  is  at  your  disposal,  from  the  flagstaff 
to  the  dry  ditch,  and  I  shall  be  happy  to 
entertain  you  in  any  way  I  can,  but  you 


136       In  Black  and  White 

mustn't  take  advantage  of  it.  Give  me 
your  word  that  you  won't  try  to  escape, 
Subadar  Sahib,  and  I'll  give  you  my  word 
that  you  shall  have  no  heavy  guard  put 
over  you/  I  thought  the  best  way  of  get- 
ting at  him  was  by  going  at  him  straight, 
y'know;  and  it  was,  by  Jove!  The  old 
man  gave  me  his  word,  and  moved  about 
the  fort  as  contented  as  a  sick  crow.  He's 
a  rummy  chap  —  always  asking  to  be  told 
where  he  is  and  what  the  buildings  about 
him  are.  I  had  to  sign  a  slip  of  blue  paper 
when  he  turned  up.  acknowledging  receipt 
of  his  body  and  all  that,  and  I'm  responsi- 
ble, y'know,  that  he  doesn't  get  away. 
Queer  thing,  though,  looking  after  a  John- 
nie old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather, 
isn't  it?  Come  to  the  fort  one  of  these  days 
and  see  him?" 

For  reasons  which  will  appear,  I  never 
went  to  the  fort  while  Khem  Singh  was 
then  within  its  walls.  I  knew  him  only  as 
a  gray  head  seen  from  Lalun's  window  — 
a  gray  head  and  a  harsh  voice.  But  na- 
tives told  me  that,  day  by  day,  as  he  looked 
upon  the  fair  lands  round  Amara,  his  mem- 
ory came  back  to  him  and,  with  it,  the  old 
hatred  against  the  government  that  had 
been  nearly  effaced  in  far-off  Burmah.  So 
he  raged  up  and  down  the  west  face  of  the 
fort  from  morning  till  noon  and  from 
evening  till  the  night,  devising  vain  things 


On  the  City  Wall         137 

in  his  heart  and  croaking  war-songs  when 
Lalun  sung  on  the  city  walls.  As  he  grew 
more  acquainted  with  the  subaltern  he  un- 
burdened his  old  heart  of  some  of  the 
passions  that  had  withered  it.  "  Sahib,'* 
he  used  to  say,  tapping  his  stick  against 
the  parapet,  *'  when  I  was  a  young  man  I 
was  one  of  twenty  thousand  horsemen  who 
came  out  of  the  city  and  rode  round  the 
plain  here.  Sahib,  I  was  the  leader  of  a 
hundred,  then  of  a  thousand,  then  of  five 
thousand,  and  now!" — he  pointed  to  his 
two  servants.  **  But  from  the  beginning  to 
to-day  I  would  cut  the  throats  of  all  the 
sahibs  in  the  land  if  I  could.  Hold  me 
fast,  sahib,  lest  I  get  away  and  return  to 
those  who  would  follow  me.  I  forgot 
them  when  I  was  in  Burmah,  but  nov/  that 
I  am  in  my  own  country  again,  I  remem- 
ber everything." 

''  Do  you  remember  that  you  have  given 
me  your  honor  not  to  m.ake  your  tendance 
a  hard  matter?  "  said  the  subaltern. 

"  Yes,  to  you,  only  to  you,  sahib,"  said 
Khem  Singh.  "  To  you  because  you  are 
of  a  pleasant  countenance.  If  my  turn 
comes  again,  sahib,  I  will  not  hang  you 
nor  cut  your  throat." 

'*  Thank  you,"  said  the  subaltern, 
gravely,  as  he  looked  along  the  line  of 
guns  that  could  pound  the  city  to  powder 
in  half  an  hour.     "  Let  us  go  into  our  own 


138       In  Black  and  White 

quarters,    Khem    Singh.     Come    and    talk 
with  me  after  dinner." 

Kheni  Singh  would  sit  on  his  own  cush- 
ion at  the  subahern's  feet,  drinking  heavy, 
scented  anise-seed  brandy  in  great  gulps, 
and  telHng  strange  stories  of  Fort  Amara, 
which  had  been  a  palace,  in  the  old  days, 
of  begums  and  ranees  tortured  to  death  — 
ay,  in  the  very  vaulted  chamber  that  now 
served  as  a  mess-room;  would  tell  stories 
of  Sobraon  that  made  the  subaltern's 
cheeks  flush  and  tingle  with  pride  of  race, 
and  of  the  Kuka  rising  from  which  so 
much  was  expected  and  the  foreknowledge 
of  which  was  shared  by  a  hundred  thou- 
sand souls.  But  he  never  told  tales  of  '57 
because,  as  he  said,  he  was  the  subaltern's 
guest,  and  '57  is  a  year  that  no  man,  black 
or  white,  cares  to  speak  of.  Once  only, 
when  the  anise-seed  brandy  had  slightly 
affected  his  head,  he  said:  "  Sahib,  speak- 
ing now  of  a  matter  which  lay  between 
Sobraon  and  the  affair  of  the  Kukas,  it  was 
ever  a  wonder  to  us  that  you  stayed  your 
hand  at  all,  and  that,  having  stayed  it,  you 
did  not  make  the  land  one  prison.  Now 
I  hear  from  without  that  you  do  great 
honor  to  all  men  of  our  country  and  by 
your  own  hands  are  destroying  the  terror 
of  your  nam.e  which  is  your  strong  rock 
and  defense.  This  is  a  foolish  thing.  Will 
oil  and  water  mix?     Now  in  '57 — " 


On  the  City  Wall         1 39 

"  I  was  not  born  then,  Subadar  Sahib/' 
said  the  siibahern,  and  Khem  Singh  reeled 
to  his  quarters. 

The  subaltern  would  tell  me  of  these  con- 
versations at  the  club,  and  my  desire  to 
see  Khem  Singh  increased.  But  Wali  Bad, 
sitting  in  the  window-seat  of  the  house  on 
the  city  wall,  said  that  it  would  be  a  cruel 
thing  to  do,  and  Lalun  pretended  that  I 
preferred  the  society  of  a  grizzled  old  Sikh 
to  hers. 

"  Here  is  tobacco,  here  is  talk,  here  are 
many  friends  and  all  the  nev/s  of  the  city, 
and,  above  all,  here  is  myself.  I  will  tell 
you  stories  and  sing  you  songs,  and  Wali 
Dad  will  talk  his  English  nonsense  in  your 
ears.  Is  that  worse  than  watching  the 
caged  animal  yonder?  Go  to-morrow 
then,  if  you  must,  but  to-day  such  and  such 
a  one  will  be  here,  and  he  will  speak  of 
wonderful  things." 

It  happened  that  to-morrow  never  came, 
and  the  warm,  heat  of  the  latter  rains  gave 
place  to  the  chill  of  early  October  almost 
iDefore  I  was  aware  of  the  flight  of  the  year. 
The  captain  commanding  the  fort  returned 
from  leave  and  took  charge  of  Khem  Singh 
according  to  the  laws  of  seniority.  The 
captain  was  not  a  nice  man.  He  called  all 
natives  "  niggers,"  which,  besides  being 
extreme  bad  form,  shows  gross  ignorancCa 


140      In  Black  and  White 

**  What's  the  use  of  telhng  off  two  Tom- 
mies to  watch  that  old  nigger?  "  said  he. 

"  I  fancy  it  soothes  his  vanity,"  said  the 
subaltern.  '*  The  men  are  ordered  to  keep 
well  out  of  his  way,  but  he  takes  them  as  a 
tribute  to  his  importance,  poor  old  beast/' 

'*  I  won't  have  line  men  taken  off  regu- 
lar guards  in  this  way.  Put  on  a  couple  of 
native  infantry." 

"Sikhs?"  said  the  subaltern,  lifting  his 
eyebrows. 

**  Sikhs,  Pathans,  Dogras  —  they're  all 
alike,  these  black  vermin,"  and  the  captain 
talked  to  Khem  Singh  in  a  manner  which 
hurt  that  old  gentleman's  feelings.  Fifteen 
years  before,  when  he  had  been  caught  for 
the  second  tim.e,  every  one  looked  upon 
him  as  a  sort  of  tiger.  He  liked  being  re- 
garded in  this  light.  But  he  forgot  that 
the  world  goes  forward  in  fifteen  years,  and 
many  subalterns  are  promoted  to  cap- 
taincies. 

"'  The  captain-pig  is  in  charge  of  the 
fort  ? "  said  Khem  Singh  to  his  native 
guard  every  morning.  And  the  native 
guard  said:  "Yes,  Subadar  Sahib."  in 
deference  to  his  age  and  his  air  of  distinc- 
tion; but  they  did  not  know  who  he  was. 

In  those  days  the  gathering  in  Lalun's 
little  white  room  was  always  large  and 
talked  more  mightilv  than  before. 

"  The  Greeks,"  said  Wali  Dad  who  had 


On  the  City  Wall         141 

been  borrowing  my  books,  "  the  inhabit- 
ants  of  the  city  of  Athens,  where  they  were 
always  hearing  and  telHng  some  new 
thing,  rigorously  secluded  their  women  — = 
who  were  mostly  fools.  Hence  the  glori- 
ous institution  of  the  heterodox  women  — 
is  it  not?  —  who  were  amusing  and  not 
fools.  All  the  Greek  philosophers  de- 
lighted in  their  company.  Tell  me,  my 
friend,  how  it  goes  now  in  Greece  and  the 
other  places  upon  the  Continent  cf  Europe, 
Are  your  women-folk  also  fools?" 

'*  \\'ali  Dad,"  I  said,  "  you  never  speak 
to  us  about  your  women-folk  and  we  never 
speak  about  ours  to  you.  That  is  the  bar 
between  us." 

''  Yes,"  said  Wali  Dad,  "  it  is  curious  to 
think  that  our  common  meeting-place 
should  be  here,  in  the  house  of  a  common 
- — how  do  you  call  her?"  He  pointed 
with  the  pipe-mouth  to  Lalun. 

"  Lalun  is  nothing  else  but  Lalun,"  1 
said,  and  that  was  perfectly  true.  ''  But  if 
you  took  your  place  in  the  world,  Wali 
Dad,  and  gave  up  dreaming  dreams — " 

"  I  might  wear  an  English  coat  and 
trousers.  I  might  be  a  leading  jMoham- 
medan  pleader.  I  might  even  be  received 
at  the  commissioner's  tennis-parties  v/here 
the  English  stand  on  one  side  and  the  na- 
tives on  the  other,  in  order  to  promote 
social  intercourse  throughout  the  empire., 


142       In  Black  and  White 

Heart's  heart,"  said  he  to  Lalun,  quickly 
**  the  sahib  says  that  I  ought  to  quit  you.'* 

"  The  sahib  is  always  talking  stupid 
talk,"  returned  Lalun  with  a  laugh.  "  In 
this  house  I  am  a  queen  and  thou  art  a 
king.  The  sahib " —  she  put  her  arms 
above  her  head  and  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment — "  the  sahib  shall  be  our  vizier  — 
thine  and  mine,  Wali  Dad,  because  he  hh.s 
said  that  thou  shouldst  leave  me." 

Wali  Dad  laughed  immoderately,  and  1 
laughed  too.  *'  Be  it  so,"  said  he.  "  My 
friend,  are  you  willing  to  take  this  lucra- 
tive government  appointment?  Lalun. 
what  shall  his  pay  be?  " 

But  Lalun  began  to  sing,  and  for  the 
rest  of  the  time  there  was  no  hope  of  get- 
ting a  sensible  answer  from  her  or  Wali 
Dad.  When  the  one  stopped,  the  other 
began  to  quote  Persian  poetry  v/ith  a  triple 
pun  in  every  other  line.  Some  of  it  was 
not  strictly  proper,  but  it  was  all  very 
funny,  and  it  only  came  to  an  end  when  a 
fat  person  in  black,  with  gold  pince-ne.-^, 
sent  up  his  name  to  Lalun,  and  Wali  Dad 
dragged  me  into  the  twinkling  night  to 
walk  in  a  big  rose  garden  and  talk  here- 
sies about  religion  and  governments  and 
a  man's  career  in  life. 

The  Moliurrum,  the  great  mourning  fes' 
tival  of  the  Mohammedans,  was  close  "t 
hand,  and  the  things  that  Wali  Dad  said 


On  the  City  Wall         143 

about  religious  fanaticism  would  have  se- 
cured his  expulsion  from  the  loosest-think- 
ing Moslem  sect.  There  were  the  rose 
bushes  round  us,  the  stars  above  us,  and 
from  every  quarter  of  the  city  came  the 
boom  of  the  big  Mohurrum  drums.  You 
must  know  that  the  city  is  divided  in  fairly 
equal  proportions  between  the  Hindoos 
and  the  Mussulmans,  and  Vv^hen  both 
creeds  belong  to  the  fighting  races,  a  big 
reHgious  festival  gives  ample  chance  for 
trouble.  When  the}^  can  —  that  is  to  say 
when  the  authorities  are  weak  enough  to 
allow  it  —  the  Hindoos  do  their  best  to 
arrange  some  minor  feast-day  of  their  own 
in  time  to  clash  with  the  period  of  general 
mourning  for  the  mart}rs  Hasan  and  Hr?- 
sain,  the  heroes  of  the  Mohurrum.  Gilt 
and  painted  paper  presentations  of  their 
tombs  are  borne  with  shouting  and  wail- 
ing, music,  torches  and  yells,  through  the 
principal  thoroughfares  of  the  city;  which 
fakements  are  called  tazias.  Their  passage 
is  rigorously  laid  down  beforehand  by  the 
police,  and  detachments  of  police  accom- 
pany each  tazia,  lest  the  Hindoos  should 
throw  bricks  at  it  and  the  peace  of  the 
queen  and  the  heads  of  her  loyal  subjects 
should  thereby  be  broken.  i\iohurrum 
time  in  a  "  fighting  "  town  means  anxiety 
to  all  the  officials,  because,  if  a  riot  breaks 
out,  the  officials  and  not  the  rioters  are 


144      I^  Black  and  White 

held  responsible.  The  former  must  fore- 
see everything,  and  while  not  making  their 
precautions  ridiculously  elaborate,  must 
see  that  they  are  at  least  adequate. 

''  Listen  to  the  drums  " !  said  Wali  Dad. 
"  That  is  the  heart  of  the  people  —  empty 
and  making  much  noise.  How,  think  you, 
will  the  Mohurrum  go  this  year?  I  think 
that  there  will  be  trouble." 

He  turned  down  a  side-street  and  left  me 
alone  with  the  stars  and  a  sleepy  police 
patrol.  Then  I  went  to  bed  and  dreamed 
that  Wali  Dad  had  sacked  the  city  and  I 
was  made  vizier,  with  Lalun's  silver  hnqa 
for  mark  of  office. 

All  day  the  Mohurrum  drums  beat  in 
the  city,  and  all  day  deputations  of  tearful 
Hindoo  gentlemen  besieged  the  deputy 
commissioner  with  assurances  that  they 
would  be  murdered  ere  next  dawning  by 
the  Mohammedans.  **  Which,"  said  the 
deputy  commissioner,  in  confidence  to  the 
head  of  police,  *'  is  a  pretty  fair  indication 
that  the  Hindoos  are  going  to  make  'em- 
selves  unpleasant.  I  think  we  can  arrange 
a  little  surprise  for  them.  I  have  given 
the  heads  of  both  creeds  fair  warning.  If 
they  choose  to  disregard  it,  so  much  the 
worse  for  them." 

There  was  a  large  gathering  in  Lalun's 
house  that  night,  but  of  men  that  I  iiad 
never  seen  before,  if  I  except  the  fat  gentle- 


On  the  City  Wall         145 

man  in  black  with  the  gold  pince-nez. 
Wali  Dad  lay  in  the  window-seat,  more  bit- 
terly scornful  of  his  faith  and  its  manifesta- 
tions than  I  had  ever  known  him.  Lalun's 
maid  was  very  busy  cutting  up  and  mixing 
lobacco  for  the  guests.  We  could  hear 
the  thunder  of  the  drums  as  the  proces- 
sions accompanying  each  tazia  marched  to 
the  central  gathering  place  in  the  plain 
outside  the  city,  preparatory  to  their  tri- 
umphant re-entry  and  circuit  within  the 
walls.  All  the  streets  seemed  ablaze  wi.h 
torches,  and  only  Fort  Amara  was  black 
and  silent. 

When  the  noise  of  the  drums  ceased,  no 
one  in  the  white  room  spoke  for  a  time. 
''  The  first  tazia  has  moved  oft,"  said  Wali 
Dad,  looking  to  the  plain. 

"  That  is  very  early,"  said  the  man  with 
the  pince-nez.  "  It  is  only  half  past  eight." 
The  company  rose  and  departed. 

*'  Some  of  them  were  men  from  Ladakh," 
said  Lalun,  when  the  last  had  gone.  ''  Thev 
brought  me  brick-tea  such  as  the  Russians 
sell,  and  a  tea-urn  from  Peshawur.  Show 
me,  now,  how  the  English  memsahibs  make 
tea." 

The  brick-tea  was  abominable.  When  it 
was  finished  Wali  Dad  suggested  a  descent 
into  the  streets.  ''  I  am  nearly  sure  that 
there  will  be  trouble  to-night."  he  Sciid. 
"  All  the  city  thinks  so,  and  Vox  Popiili  is 


146      In  Black  and  White 

Vox  Dei,  as  the  Babus  say.  Now  I  tell 
you  that  at  the  corner  of  the  Padshahi  Gate 
you  will  find  my  horse  all  this  night  if  you 
want  to  go  about  and  to  see  things.  It  is 
a  most  disgraceful  exhibition.  Where  is 
the  pleasure  of  saying  '  Ya  Hasan,  Ya  Hus- 
sai7i'  twenty  thousand  times  in  a  night?'* 

All  the  professions  —  there  were  two- 
and-twenty  of  them  —  were  now  well 
within  the  city  walls.  The  drums  were 
beating  afresh,  the  crowd  were  howling 
"  Ya  Hasan!  Ya  Hussain!"  and  beating 
their  breasts,  the  brass  bands  were  playing 
their  loudest,  and  at  every  corner  where 
space  allowed  }Iohammedan  preachers 
were  telling  the  lamentable  story  of  the 
death  of  the  martyrs.  It  was  impossible  to 
move  except  with  the  crowd,  for  the  streets 
were  not  more  than  twenty  feet  wide.  In 
the  Hindoo  quarters  the  shutters  of  all  the 
shops  were  up  and  cross-barred.  As  the 
first  fasia,  a  gorgeous  erection  ten  feet  high, 
w^as  borne  aloft  on  the  shoulders  of  a  score 
of  stout  men  into  the  semi-darkness  of  the 
gully  of  the  horsemen,  a  brickbat  crashed 
through  its  talc  and  tinsel  sides. 

"  Into  Thy  hands,  oh,  Lord!  "  murmured 
Wali  Dad,  profanely,  as  a  yell  w^ent  up  from 
behind,  and  a  native  officer  of  police 
jammed  his  horse  through  the  crowd.  An- 
other brickbat  followed,  and  the  ta:3ia  stag- 
g^ered  and  swayed  where  it  had  stopped. 


On  the  City  Wall  147 

"  Go  on  I  In  the  name  of  the  Sirkar,  go 
forward!  "  shouted  the  policeman,  but  there 
was  an  ugly  cracking  and  spHntering  of 
shutters,  and  the  crowd  halted,  with  oaths 
and  growlings,  before  the  house  whence 
the  brickbat  had  been  thrown. 

Then,  without  any  warning,  broke  the 
storm  —  not  only  in  the  gully  of  the  horse* 
men,  but  in  half  a  dozen  other  places.  The 
tazias  rocked  like  ships  at  sea,  the  long 
pole-torches  dipped  and  rose  round  them 
while  the  men  shouted :  "  The  Hindoos  are 
dishonoring  the  tazias!  Strike!  Strike! 
Into  their  temples  for  the  faith!  "  The  six 
or  eight  policemen  with  each  tazia  drew 
their  batons,  and  struck  as  long  as  they 
could  in  the  hope  of  forcing  the  mob  for- 
ward, but  they  were  overpowered,  and  as 
contingents  of  Hindoos  poured  into  the 
streets,  the  fight  became  general.  Half  a 
mile  away  w^here  the  tazias  were  yet  un- 
touched the  drums  and  the  shrieks  of  "  Ya 
Hasan!  Ya  Httssain!"  continued,  but  not 
for  long.  The  priests  at  the  corners  of  the 
streets  knocked  the  legs  from  the  bedsteads 
that  supported  their  pulpits  and  sm.ote  for 
the  faith,  while  stones  fell  from  the  silent 
houses  upon  friend  and  foe,  and  the  packed 
streets  bellowed:  "Din!  Din!  Din!"  A 
tazia  caught  nre,  and  was  dropped  for  a 
flaming  barrier  between  Hindoo  and  Mus- 
sulman at  the  corner  of  the  gully.     Then 


148       In  Blai  k  and  White 

the  crowd  surged  forward,  and  Wali  Dad 
drew  me  close  to  the  stone  pillar  of  a  welh 

■'It  was  intended  from  the  beginning!" 
he  shouted  in  my  ear,  v/ith  more  heat  than 
blank  unbelief  should  be  guilty  of.  "  The 
bricks  were  carried  up  to  the  houses  before- 
hand. These  swine  of  Hindoos!  We  shall 
be  gutting  kine  in  their  temples  to-night!  " 

Tasia  after  tasia,  some  burning,  others 
torn  to  pieces,  liurried  past  us  and  the  mob 
with  them,  howling,  shrieking,  and  striking 
at  the  house  doors  in  their  flight.  At  last 
we  saw  the  reason  of  the  rush.  Hugonin, 
the  assistant  district  superintendent  of  po- 
lice, a  boy  of  twenty,  had  got  together 
thirty  constables  and  was  forcing  the  crowd 
through  the  streets.  His  old  gray  police- 
horse  showed  no  sign  of  uneasiness  as  it 
was  spurred  breast-on  into  the  crowd,  and 
the  long  dog-whip  with  which  he  had 
armed  himself  was  never  still. 

*'  They  know  we  haven't  enough  police 
to  hold  'em,"  he  cried  as  he  passed  me, 
mopping  a  cut  on  his  face.  "They  know 
we  haven't!  Aren't  any  of  the  men  from 
the  club  coming  down  to  help?  Get  on, 
you  sons  of  burned  fathers!"  The  dog- 
w^hip  cracked  afresh  across  the  writhing 
backs,  and  the  constables  smote  afresh  with 
baton  and  gun-butt.  With  these  passed  the 
lights  and  the  shouting,  and  Wali  Dad  be- 
ofan  to  swear  under  his  breath.     From  Fort 


On  the  City  Wall         149 

Amara  shot  up  a  single  rocket;  then  two 
side  by  side.     It  was  the  signal  for  troops. 

Pettit,  the  deputy  commissioner,  covered 
with  dust  and  sweat,  but  calm  and  gently 
smiling,  cantered  up  the  clean-swept  street 
in  the  rear  of  the  main  body  of  the  rioters. 
"  Xo  one  killed  yet,"  he  shouted.  "  Tl] 
keep  'em  on  the  run  till  dawn!  Don't  let 
'em  halt,  Hugonin!  Trot  'em  about  till  the 
troops  come." 

The  science  of  the  defense  lay  solely  in 
keeping  the  mob  on  the  move.  If  they  had 
breathing-space  they  would  halt  and  fire  a 
house,  and  then  the  work  of  restoring  order 
would  be  more  difficult,  to  say  the  least  of 
it.  Flames  have  the  same  effect  on  a  crowd 
as  blood  has  on  a  wild  beast. 

Word  had  reached  the  club  and  men  in 
evening-dress  were  beginning  to  show 
themselves  and  lend  a  hand  in  heading  off 
and  breaking  up  the  shouting  masses  with 
stirrup-leathers,  whips,  or  chance-found 
staves.  They  wxre  not  very  often  attacked, 
for  the  rioters  had  sense  enough  to  knov\r 
that  the  death  of  a  European  would  not 
mean  one  hanging  but  many,  and  possibly 
the  appearance  of  the  thrice-dreaded  artil- 
lery. The  clamor  in  the  city  redoubled. 
The  Hindoos  had  descended  into  the  streets 
m  real  earnest  and  ere  long  the  mob  re- 
turned. It  was  a  strange  sight.  There 
were  no  tazias  —  only  their  riven  platforms 


150      In  Black  and  White 

—  and  there  were  no  police.  Here  and 
there  a  city  dignitary,  Hindoo  or  Aloham- 
medan,  was  vainly  imploring  his  coreligion- 
ists to  keep  quiet  and  behave  themselves  — 
advice  for  which  his  white  beard  was  pulled 
with  contumely.  Then  a  native  officer  of 
police,  unhorsed  but  still  using  his  spurs 
with  effect,  would  be  seen  borne  along  in 
the  throng,  warning  all  the  world  of  the 
danger  of  insulting  the  government. 
Everywhere  were  men  striking  aimlessly 
with  sticks,  grasping  each  other  by  the 
throat,  howling  and  foaming  with  rage,  or 
beating  with  their  bare  hands  on  the  doors 
of  the  houses. 

"  It  is  a  lucky  thing  that  they  are  fighting 
with  natural  weapons,"  I  said  to  Wali  Dad, 
■'  else  we  should  have  half  the  city  killed." 

I  turned  as  I  spoke  and  looked  at  his 
face.  His  nostrils  were  distended,  his  eyes 
were  fixed,  and  he  was  smiting  himself 
softly  on  the  breast.  The  crowd  poured  by 
with  renev/ed  riot  —  a  gang  of  Mussulmans 
hard-pressed  by  some  hundred  Hindoo  fan- 
atics. Wali  Dad  left  my  side  with  an  oath, 
and  shouting:  "  Ya  Hasan!  Ya  Hussaiii!" 
plunged  into  the  thick  of  the  fight  where  I 
lost  sight  of  him. 

I  fled  by  a  side  alley  to  the  Padshahi  Gate 
where  I  found  Wali  Dad's  house,  and 
thence  rode  to  the  fort.  Once  outside  the 
city  wall,  the  tumult  sunk  to  a  dull  roar. 


On  the  City  Wall         151 

very  impressive  under  the  stars  and  reflect- 
ing great  credit  on  the  fifty  thousand  able- 
bodied  men  who  were  making  it.  The 
troops  who,  at  the  dsputy  commissioners 
instance,  had  been  ordered  to  rendezvous 
quietly  near  the  fort,  showed  no  signs  of 
being  impressed.  Two  companies  of  na- 
tive infantry  and  a  squadron  of  na- 
tive cavalry  and  a  company  of  British 
infantry  were  kicking  their  heels  in  the 
shadow  of  the  east  face,  waiting  for  orders 
to  march  in.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  they 
were  all  pleased,  unholily  pleased,  at  the 
chance  of  what  they  called  "  a  little  fun." 
The  senior  ofhcers,  to  be  sure,  grumxbled 
at  having  been  kept  out  of  bed,  and  the 
English  troops  pretended  to  be  sulky,  but 
there  was  joy  in  the  hearts  of  all  the  sub- 
alterns, and  whispers  ran  up  and  down  the 
line:  "No  ball  cartridge  —  what  a  beastly 
shame!"  "  D'you  think  the  beggars  will 
really  stand  up  to  us?"  "Hope  I  s^:all 
m^eet  my  money-lender  there.  I  owe  him 
m.ore  than  I  can  afford."  "  Oh,  they  won't 
let  us  even  unsheath  swords."  "Hurrah! 
Up  goes  the  fourth  rocket.  Fall  in,  there!  " 
The  garrison  artillery,  v.'ho  to  the  last 
cherished  a  wild  hope  that  they  mnght  be 
allowed  to  bombard  the  city  at  a  hundred 
yards'  range,  lined  the  parapet  above  the 
east  gateway  and  cheered  themselves 
hoarse    as    the    British    infantrv    doubled 


152      In  Black  and  White 

along  the  road  to  the  main  gate  of  the  city. 
The  cavalry  cantered  on  to  the  Padshahi 
Gate,  and  the  native  infantry  marched 
slowly  to  the  Gate  of  the  Butchers.  The 
surprise  was  intended  to  be  of  a  distinctly 
unpleasant  nature,  and  to  come  on  top  o: 
the  defeat  of  the  police  who  had  been  just 
able  to  keep  the  Mohammedans  from  firing 
the  houses  of  a  few  leading  Hindoos. 
The  bulk  of  the  riot  lay  in  the  north  and 
north-west  wards.  The  east  and  south- 
east were  by  this  time  dark  and  silent,  and 
I  rode  hastily  to  Lalun's  house,  for  I 
wished  to  tell  her  to  send  some  one  in 
search  of  Wali  Dad.  The  house  was  un- 
lighted,  but  the  door  v/as  open,  and  I 
climbed  upstairs  in  the  darkness.  One 
small  lamp  in  the  white  room  showed 
Lalun  and  her  maid  leaning  half  out  of  the 
window,  breathing  heavily  and  evidently 
pulling  at  something  that  refused  to  come. 

''Thou  art  late  —  very  late,"  gasped 
Lalun  without  turning  her  head.  "  Help 
us  now,  oh,  fool,  if  thou  hast  not  spent  t\v: 
strength  howling  among  the  tazias.  Pull! 
Nasiban  and  I  can  do  no  more!  Oh, 
sahib,  is  it  you?  The  Hindoos  have  been 
hunting  an  old  Mohammedan  round  the 
ditch  with  clubs.  If  they  find  him  again 
thev  will  kill  him.  Help  us  to  pull  him 
up." 

I  laid  my  hands  to  the  long  red  silk  waist- 


On  the  City  Wall         153 

cloth  that  was  hanging  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  we  three  pulled  and  pulled 
with  all  the  strength  at  our  command. 
There  was  something  very  heavy  at  the 
end,  and  it  was  swearing  in  an  unknown 
tongue  as  it  kicked  against  the  city  wall. 

"  Pull,  oh,  pull!  "  said  Lalun  at  the  last. 
A  pair  of  brown  hands  grasped  the  win- 
dow-sill and  a  venerable  Mohammedan 
tumbled  upon  the  floor,  very  much  out  of 
breath.  His  jaws  v»'ere  tied  up,  and  his 
turban  had  fallen  over  one  eye.  He  was 
dusty  and  angry. 

Lalun  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  for  an 
instant  and  said  som.ething  about  Wall  Dad 
that  I  could  not  catch. 

Then,  to  my  extreme  gratification,  she 
threw  her  arms  round  my  neck  and  m.ur- 
mured  pretty  things.  I  was  in  no  haste  to 
stop  her;  and  Nasiban,  being  a  hand- 
maiden of  tact,  turned  to  the  big  jewel- 
chest  that  stands  in  the  corner  of  the  white 
room  and  rummaged  among  the  contents. 
The  ]\Iohammedan  sat  on  the  floor  and 
glared. 

"  One  service  more,  sahib,  since  thou 
hast  come  so  opportunely,"  said  Lalun. 
"  Wilt  thou  " —  it  is  very  nice  to  be  thou-ed 
by  Lalun  — "  take  this  old  man  across  the 
city  —  the  troops  are  everywhere,  and  they 
might  hurt  him,  for  he  is  old  —  to  the 
Kumharsen  Gate?     There  I  think  he  may 


154      I^  Black  and  White 

find  a  carriage  to  take  him  to  his  house. 
He  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  thou  art  — 
more  than  a  friend  .  .  .  therefore  I 
ask  this." 

Nasiban  bent  over  the  old  man,  tucked 
something-  into  his  beh,  and  I  raised  him 
up,  and  led  him  into  the  streets.  In  cross- 
ing from  the  east  to  the  west  of  the  city 
there  was  no  chance  of  avoiding  the  troops 
and  the  crowds.  Long  before  I  reached 
the  gully  of  horsemen  I  heard  the  shouts 
of  the  British  infantry  crying  cheerily: 
"  Hutt,  ye  beggars!  Hutt,  ye  devils!  Get 
along!  Go  forward,  there!''  Then  fol- 
lowed the  ringing  of  rilie-butts  and  shrieks 
of  pain.  The  troops  were  banging  at  the 
bare  toes  of  the  mob  with  their  butts  —  not 
a  bayonet  had  been  fixed.  My  companion 
mAimbled  and  jabbered  as  we  walked  on  un- 
til we  were  carried  back  by  the  crowd  and 
had  to  force  our  way  to  the  troops.  I  caught 
him  by  the  wrist  and  felt  a  bangle  thereon — 
the  iron  bangle  of  the  Sikhs  —  but  I  had  no 
suspicions,  for  Lalun  had  only  ten  minutes 
before  put  her  arms  around  me.  Thrice 
we  were  carried  back  by  the  crowd,  and 
when  we  won  our  way  past  the  British 
infantry  it  was  to  meet  the  Sikh  cavalry 
driving  another  mob  before  them  with  the 
butts  of  their  lances. 

"What  are  these  dogs?"  said  the  old 
man. 


On  the  City  Wall         155 

"  Sikhs  of  the  cavalry,  father,"  I  said, 
and  we  edged  our  way  up  the  line  of  horses 
two  abreast  and  found  the  deputy  com- 
missioner, his  helmet  smashed  on  his  head, 
surrounded  by  a  knot  of  men  who  had 
come  down  from  the  club  as  am.ateur  con- 
stables and  had  helped  the  police  mightily. 

"  We'll  keep  'em  on  the  run  till  dawn," 
said  Petitt.  "  Who's  your  villainous 
friend?" 

1  had  only  time  to  say,  "  The  protection 
cf  the  Sirkar!  "  when  a  fresh  crowd  flying 
before  the  native  infantry  carried  us  a  hun- 
dr.  d  yards  nearer  to  the  Kum.harsen  Gate, 
and  P  titt  was  swept  away  like  a  shadow. 

"  I  do  not  know — I  can  not  see  —  it  is 
all  new  to  me!"  moaned  my  companion. 
**  How  many  troops  are  there  in  the  city?  " 

"  Perhaps  five  hundred,"  I  said. 

"  A  lakh  of  mien  beaten  by  five  hundred 
—  and  Sikhs  among  them!  Surely,  surely, 
I  am  an  old  man,  but  —  the  Kumharsen 
Gate  is  new.  Who  pulled  down  the  stone 
lions?  Where  is  the  conduit?  Sahib,  I 
am  a  very  old  man,  and,  alas,  I  —  I  can 
not  stand."  He  dropped  in  the  shadow  of 
the  Kumharsen  Gate  where  there  was  no 
disturbance.  A  fat  gentleman  wearing 
gold  pince-nez  came  out  of  the  darkness. 

"  You  are  most  kind  to  bring  my  old 
friend,"  he  said,  suavely.  "  He  is  a  land- 
holder of  Akala.     He  should  not  be  in  a 


156       In  Black  and  White 

big  city  when  there  is  religious  excitement 
But  I  have  a  carriage  here.  You  are  quite 
truly  kind.  Will  you  help  me  to  put  him 
into  the  carriage?     It  is  very  late." 

We  bundled  the  old  man  into  a  hired 
victoria  that  stood  close  to  the  gate,  and 
I  turned  back  to  the  house  on  the  city  wall. 
The  troops  were  driving  the  people  to  and 
fro,  while  the  police  shouted,  "  To  your 
houses !  Get  to  your  houses !  "  and  the 
dog-whip  of  the  assistant  district  superin- 
tendent cracked  remorselessly.  Terror- 
stricken  bunnias  clung  to  the  stirrups  of  the 
cavalry,  crying  that  their  houses  had  been 
robbed  (which  was  a  lie),  and  the  burly 
Sikh  horsemen  patted  them  on  the  shoul- 
der and  bade  them  return  to  those  houses 
lest  a  worse  thing  should  happen.  Par- 
ties of  five  or  six  British  soldiers,  joining 
arms,  swept  down  the  side-gullies,  their 
rifles  on  their  backs,  stamping,  with  shout- 
ing and  song,  upon  the  toes  of  Hindoo  and 
Mussulman.  Never  was  religious  enthu- 
siasm more  systematically  squashed;  and 
never  were  poor  breakers  of  the  peace  more 
utterly  weary  and  foot-sore.  They  were 
routed  out  of  holes  and  corners,  from  be- 
hind well-pillars  and  byres,  and  bidden  to 
go  to  their  houses.  If  they  had  no  houses 
to  go  to,  so  m.uch  the  worse  for  their  toes. 

On  returning  to  Lalun's  door  I  stumbled 
over  a  m^an  at  the  threshold.     He  was  sob- 


On  the  City  Wall  157 

bing  hysterically  and  his  arms  flapped  like 
the  wings  of  a  goose.  It  was  A\'ali  Dad, 
agnostic  and  unbeliever,  shoeless,  turban- 
less,  and  frothing  at  the  mouth,  the  flesh 
on  his  chest  bruised  and  bleeding  from  the 
vehemence  with  which  he  had  smitten  him- 
self. A  broken  torch-handle  lay  by  his 
side,  and  his  quivering  lips  murmured, 
*'  Ya  Hasan!  Ya  Hiissain!"  as  I  stooped 
over  him.  I  pushed  him  a  few  steps  up 
the  staircase,  threw  a  pebble  at  Lalun's 
city  Vv'indow,  and  hurried  home. 

Most  of  the  streets  were  very  still,  and 
the  cold  wind  that  comes  before  the  dawn 
whistled  down  them.  In  the  center  of  the 
square  of  the  mosque  a  man  was  bending 
over  a  corpse.  The  skull  had  been 
smashed  in  by  gun  butt  or  bamboo  stave. 

"  It  is  expedient  that  one  man  should  die 
for  the  people,"  said  Petitt,  grimly,  raising 
the  shapeless  head.  ''  These  brutes  were 
beginning  to  show  their  teeth  too  much." 

And  from  afar  we  could  hear  the  soldiers 
singing: 

"  Two  Lovely  Black  Eyes,"  as  they 
drove  the  remnant  of  the  rioters  within 
doors. 


Of  course  you  can  guess  what  hap- 
pened? I  was  not  so  clever.  When  the 
news  v;ent  abroad  that  Khem  Singh  had 


158       In  Black  and  White 

escaped  from  the  fort,  I  did  not,  since  I 
was  then  Uving  the  story,  not  writing  it, 
connect  myself,  or  Lalun,  or  the  fat  gentle- 
man of  the  gold  pince-nez,  with  his  disap- 
pearance. Nor  did  it  strike  me  that  Wall 
Dad  was  the  man  who  should  have  steered 
him  across  the  city,  or  that  Lalun's  arms 
round  my  neck  were  put  there  to  hide  the 
money  that  Xasiban  gave  to  him,  and  that 
Lalun  had  used  me  and  my  white  face  as 
even  a  better  safeguard  than  Wali  Dad, 
who  proved  himself  so  untrustworthy.  All 
that  1  knew  at  that  time  v/as  thai,  vv^hen 
Fort  Amara  was  taken  up  with  the  riots, 
Khem  Singh  profited  by  the  confusion  to 
get  away,  and  that  his  two  Sikh  guards 
also  escaped. 

But  later  on  I  received  full  enlighten- 
m.ent;  and  so  did  Khem  Singh.  He  fled 
to  those  who  knev\^  him  in  the  old  days, 
but  many  of  them  were  dead  and  more  were 
changed,  and  all  knew  something  of  the 
wrath  of  the  government.  He  went  to  the 
young  men,  but  the  glamour  of  his  name 
had  passed  away,  and  they  were  entering 
native  regiments  or  government  offices, 
and  Khem  Singh  could  give  them  neither 
pension,  decorations,  nor  infl.uence — ■ 
nothing  but  a  glorious  death  with  their 
backs  to  the  mouth  of  a  gun.  He  v/rote 
letters  and  made  promises,  and  the  letters 
fell  into  bad  hands,  and  a  wholly  insignifi- 


On  the  City  Wall         159 

cant  subordinate  officer  of  police  tracked 
them  down  and  gained  promotion  thereby. 
Moreover,  Khem  Singh  was  old,  and  anise- 
seed  brandy  was  scarce,  and  he  had  left  his 
silver  cooking-pots  in  Fort  Amara  with  his 
liice  warm  bedding,  and  the  gentleman 
with  the  gold  pince-nez  was  told  by  those 
\v'ho  had  employed  him  that  Khem  Singh 
as  a  popular  leader  was  not  worth  the 
money  paid. 

''  Great  is  the  mercy  of  these  fools  of 
English,"  said  Khem  Singh  when  the  situ- 
ation was  explained.  "  1  will  go  back  to 
Fort  Amara  of  my  own  free  will  and  gain 
honor.  Give  me  good  clothes  to  re c urn 
in." 

So,  upon  a  day,  Khem  Singh  knocked  at 
the  wicket  gate  of  the  fort  and  walked  to 
the  captain  and  the  subaltern  who  were 
nearly  gray-headed  on  account  of  corre- 
spondence that  daily  arrived  from  Simla 
marked  "  Private." 

"  I  have  come  back,  Captain  Sahib," 
said  Khem  Singh.  ''  Put  no  more  guards 
over  me.     It  is  no  good  out  yonder." 

A  week  later  I  saw  him  for  the  first 
time  to  my  knowledge,  and  he  made  as 
though  there  were  an  understanding 
between  us. 

"  It  was  well  done,  sahib,"  said  he,  "  and 
greatly  I  adm.ire  your  astuteness  in  thus 
boldly   facing  the   troops   when   I,   whom 


i6o      In  Black  and  White 

they  would  have  doubtless  torn  to  pieces^ 
was  with  you.  Now  there  is  a  man  in  Fort 
Ooltagarh  whom  a  bold  man  could  with 
ease  help  to  escape.  This  is  the  position  of 
the  fort  as  I  draw  it  on  the  sand  .  .  ." 
But  I  was  thinking  how  I  had  become 
Lalun's  vizier  after  all. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  »    .    .    .    .  3 

At  the  Pit's  Mouth ,  40 

A  Wayside  Comedy    ,'..,,..,  51 

The  Hill  of  Illusion.   .,,.»,=,,  71 

A  Second-Rate  Woman    ..»...,  87 


THE   EDUCATION  OF  OTIS 
YEERE 


SHOWING  HOW  THE  GREAT  IDEA  WAS  BORNx 

In  the  pleasant  orchard-closes 
"  God  bless  all  our  gains,''  say  we  ; 

But  '*  May  God  bless  all  our  losses," 
Better  suits  with  our  degree. 

—  7 Vie  Lost  Bower 

This  is  the  history  of  a  Failure;  but  the 
woman  who  failed  said  it  might  be  an  in- 
structive tale  to  put  into  print  for  the  bene- 
lit  of  the  younger  generation.  The  younger 
generation  does  not  want  instruction.  It 
IS  perfectly  v/illing  to  instruct  if  any  one 
will  listen  to  it.  None  the  less,  here  begins 
the  story  where  every  right-minded  story 
should  begin,  that  is  to  say,  at  Simla,  where 
all  things  begin  and  many  come  to  an  evil 
end. 

The  mistake  was  due  to  a  very  clever 
woman  making  a  blunder  and  not  retriev* 
ing  it.    Men  are  licensed  to  stumble,  but  a 


4  Under  the  Deodars 

clever  woman's  mistake  is  outside  the  regu- 
lar course  of  Nature  and  Providence;  since 
all  good  people  know  that  a  woman  is  the 
only  infallible  thing  in  this  world,  except 
Government  paper  of  the  '79  issue,  bearing 
interest  at  four  and  a  half  per  cent.  Yet, 
we  have  to  remember  that  six  consecutive 
days  of  rehearsing  the  star-part  of  "  The 
Fallen  Angel,"  at  the  New  Gaiety  Theater, 
where  the  plaster  is  not  yet  properly  dry, 
might  have  brought  about  an  unhingement 
of  spirits  which,  again,  might  have  led  to 
eccentricities. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  came  to  "  The  Foundry  " 
to  tififin  with  Mrs.  ]\Iallowe,  her  one  bosom 
friend,  for  she  was  in  no  sense  "  a  woman's 
woman."  And  it  was  a  woman's  tifhn,  the 
door  shut  to  all  the  world;  and  they  both 
talked  chiffons,  which  is  French  for 
Liysteries. 

"  Fve  enjoyed  an  interval  of  sanity,"  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  announced,  after  tiffin  was  over 
and  the  two  were  comfortably  settled  in  the 
little  writing-room  that  opened  out  of  Mrs. 
!Mallowe.'s  bedroom. 

"  My  dear  girl,  what  has  he  done?"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe,  sweetly.  It  is  noticeable 
that  ladies  of  a  certain  age  call  each  other 
"  dear  girl,"  just  as  com.missioners  of 
twenty-eight  years'  standing  address  their 
e<^uals  in  the  Civil  List  as  "  my  boy." 

"  There's  no  he  in  the  case.     Who  am  J 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    j 

that  an  imaginary  man  should  be  always 
credited  to  me?    Am  I  an  Apache?" 

"  No,  dear;  but  somebody's  scalp  is  gen- 
erally dr}ing  at  your  wigwam  door.  Soak- 
ing, rather." 

This  was  an  allusion  to  the  Hawley  Boy, 
who  was  in  the  habit  of  riding  all  across 
Simla  in  the  Rains,  to  call  on  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee.     That  lady  laughed. 

"  For  my  sins,  the  Aide  at  Tyrconnel  last 
night  told  me  off  to  The  Mussuck.  Hush! 
Don't  laugh.  One  of  my  most  devoted  ad- 
mirers. When  duff  came  in  —  some  one 
really  ought  to  teach  them  to  make  pud- 
dings at  Tyrconnel — The  Mussuck  was  at 
liberty  to  attend  me." 

"  Sweet  soul !  I  know  his  appetite,''  5.aid 
Mrs.  Mallowe.  "  Did  he,  oh,  dia  ht,  begin 
his  wooing?" 

"  By  a  special  mercy  of  Providence,  no. 
He  explained  his  importance  as  a  Pillar  of 
the  Empire.     I  didn't  laugn. ' 

"  Lucy,  I  don't  believe  you." 

"Ask  Captain  Sangar;  he  was  on  the 
other  side.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  The 
Mussuck  dilated." 

"  I  think  I  can  see  him  doing  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe,  pensively,  scratching  her 
fox-terrier's  ears. 

"  I  was  properly  impressed.  Most  prop- 
erly. I  yawned  openly.  *  Strict  supervis* 
ion,   and   play   them   off   one   against   the 


6  Under  the  Deodars 

other/  said  The  ]\Iussuck,  shoveling  down 
his  ice  by  tureenfuls,  I  assure  you.  *  Tltai, 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  is  the  secret  of  our  Gov- 
ernment.' " 

JNIrs.  Mallowe  laughed  long  and  merrily^ 
'■'And  what  did  you  say.''  " 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  at  loss  for  an 
answer  yet?  I  said:  'So  I  have  observed 
in  my  dealings  with  you.*  The  Mussuck 
swelled  with  pride.  He  is  coming  to  call 
on  me  to-morrow.  The  Hawley  Boy  is 
coming  too.'' 

" '  Strict  supervision,  and  play  them  ofi 
one  against  the  other.  That,  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee,  is  the  secret  of  our  Government'  And 
I  dare  say  if  we  could  get  to  The  Mussuck's 
heart,  we  should  find  that  he  considers  him- 
self a  man  of  the  world." 

'*  As  he  is  on  the  other  two  things.  I  like 
The  iVlussuck,  and  I  won't  have  you  call 
him  names.     He  amuses  me." 

"  He  has  reformed  you,  too,  bv  what  aj)- 
pears.  Explain  the  interval  of  sanity,  and 
hit  Tim  on  the  nose  with  the  paper-cutter, 
please.  That  dog  is  i-oo  fond  of  sugar. 
Do  you  take  milk  in  yours?*' 

"  No,  thanks.  Polly,  Fm  wearied  of  this 
life.     It's  hollow." 

"Turn  religious,  then,  T  always  said 
that  Rome  would  be  your  fate." 

"  Only  exchanging  half  a  dozen  attaches 
in  red  for  one  in  black,  and  if  I  fasted,  the 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere     7 

wrinkles  would  come,  and  never,  never  go. 
Has  it  struck  3'ou,  dear,  that  I'm  getting 
old?" 

"  Thanks  for  vour  courtesy.  I'll  return 
it.  Ye-es,  we  are  both  not  exactly  —  how 
shall  I  put  it?" 

"  What  we  have  been.  *  I  feel  it  in  my 
bones,'  as  ]\Irs.  Crossley  says.  Polly,  I've 
wasted  my  life." 

"As  how?" 

"Never  mind  how.  I  feel  it.  I  want  to 
be  a  Power  before  I  die." 

"  Be  a  Power  then.  You've  wits  enough 
for  anything     .     ,     .     and  beauty?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  pointed  a  tea-spoon 
straight  at  her  hostess.  *'  Polly,  if  you  heap 
compllm.ents  on  m.e  like  this,  I  shall  cease 
to  believe  that  you're  a  woman.  Tell  me 
how  I  am  to  be  a  Power." 

"  Inform  The  ]\Iussuck  that  he  is  the 
most  fascinating  and  slimimest  man  in  Asia. 
and  he'll  tell  you  anything  and  everything 
you  please." 

"Bother  The  Mussuck!  I  mean  an 
infcUectiial  Power  —  not  a  gas-'^o\Ntv. 
Pollv,  I'm  going  to  start  a  salon." 

Mrs.  ]\Iallowe  turned  lazily  on  the  sofa 
and  rested  her  head  on  her  hand.  "  Hear 
the  words  of  the  Preacher,  the  son  of 
Baruch.'* 

''Will  you  talk  sensibly?" 


8  Under  the  Deodars 

"  I  will,  dear,  for  I  see  that  you  are 
g^oing  to  make  a  mistake." 

"  I  never  made  a  mistake  in  my  life  — 
at  least,  never  one  that  I  couldn't  explain 
away  afterward." 

"  Going  to  make  a  mistake,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Mailowe,  composedly.  "  It  is  im- 
possible to  start  a  salon  in  Simla.  A  bar 
would  be  much  more  to  the  point." 

**  Perhaps;  but  why?     It  seems  so  easy." 

"  Just  Vv^hat  makes  it  so  difficult.  How 
many  clever  women  are  there  in  Simla?  " 

"  Myself  and  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee,  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"Modest  woman!  Mrs.  Feardon  would 
thank  you  for  that.  And  how  many  clever 
men?  " 

"  Oh — er — hundreds,"  said  ^Irs.  Hauks- 
bee,  vaguelv. 

'*  What  ?.  fatal  blunder!  Not  one.  They 
are  all  bespoke  by  the  Government.  Take 
my  husband,  for  instance.  Jack  was  a 
clever  man,  though  I  say  so  who  shouldn't. 
Government  has  eaten  him  up.  Ail  his 
ideas  and  powers  of  conversation  —  he 
really  used  to  be  a  good  talker,  even  to  his 
wife,  in  the  old  days  —  are  taken  from  him 
by  this  —  this  kitchen-sink  of  a  Govern- 
ment. That's  the  case  with  every  man  up 
here  who  is  at  work.  I  don't  suppose  a 
Russian  convict  under  the  knout  is  able  to 


The  Education  of  Oiis  Y^ere     9 

amuse  the  rest  of  his  gang;  and   all  oui 
men-folk  here  are  gilded  convicts," 

'*  But  there  are  scores  — " 

"  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say. 
Scores  of  idle  men  up  on  leave.  I  admit  it, 
but  they  are  all  of  two  objectionable  sets. 
The  Civilian  who'd  be  delightful  if  he  had 
the  military  man's  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  style,  and  the  military  man  who'd  be 
adorable  if  he  had  the  Civilian's  culture." 

"  Detestable  word !  Have  Civilians  cul- 
chaw?     I  never  studied  the  breed  deeply." 

"  Don't  make  fun  of  Jack's  service.  Yes 
They're  like  the  teapoys  in  the  Lakka  Ba- 
zaar—  good  material,  but  not  polished. 
They  can't  help  themselves,  poor  dears. 
A  Civilian  only  begins  to  be  tolerable  after 
he  has  knocked  about  the  world  for  fifteen 
years." 

"  And  a  military  m.an?  " 

"  When  he  has  had  the  same  amount  of 
service.  The  young  of  both  species  are 
horrible.  Y'ou  would  have  scores  of  them 
in  your  salon." 

**  I  would  not! "  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
fiercely.  "  I  would  tell  the  bearer  to  dar- 
waza  band  them.  IVl  put  their  own  col- 
onels and  commissioners  at  the  door  to 
turn  them  away.  I'd  give  them  to  the 
Topsham  girl  to  play  with." 

"  The  Topsham  girl  would  be  gratefu) 
for  the  gift.     But  to  go  back  to  the  salon 


lo  Under  the  Deodars 

Allowing  that  you  had  gathered  all  yotir 
men  and  women  together,  what  would  you 
do  with  them?  Make  them  talk?  They 
would  all  with  one  accord  begin  to  flirt. 
Your  salon  would  become  a  glorified 
Peliti's  —  a  *  Scandal  Point '  by  lamplight/' 

**  There's  a  certain  amount  of  wisdom  in 
that  view." 

'*  There's  all  the  wisdom,  in  the  world  in 
it.  Surely,  twelve  Simla  seasons  ought  to 
have  taught  you  that  you  can't  focus  any- 
thing in  India;  and  a  salon,  to  be  any  good 
at  all,  must  be  permanent.  In  two  seasons 
your  roomful  would  be  scattered  all  over 
Asia.  V/e  are  only  little  bits  of  dirt  on 
the  hill-sides  —  here  one  day  and  blown 
down  the  khud  the  next.  \\'e  have  lost 
the  art  of  talking  —  at  least  our  men  have. 
We  have  no  cohesion  — " 

"  George  Eliot  in  the  flesh,"  interpolated 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  wickedly. 

'*  And  collectively,  my  dear  scoffer,  we. 
men  and  wom.en  alike,  have  710  influence. 
Com.e  into  the  veranda  and  look  at 
the  Mall." 

The  two  looked  dovrn  on  the  now  rap- 
idly  filling  road,  for  all  Simla  was  abroad 
to  steal  a  stroll  between  a  shower  and  a 
fog.  , 

"  Hov/  do  you  propose  to  fix  that  river? 
Look!  There's  The  Mussuck  — head  of 
g^oodness  knows  what.     He  is  a  power  in 


Tha  Evju cation  of  Otis  Yeere    xi 

the  land,  though  he  does  eat  like  a  coster- 
monger.  There's  Colonel  Blone,  and  Gen- 
eral Grucher,  and  Sir  Dugald  Delane,  and 
Sir  Henry  Haughton,  and  Mr.  Jellalatty. 
All  Heads  of  Departments,  and  all 
powerful" 

"  And  all  my  fervent  admirers,"  said 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  piously.  "  Sir  Henry 
Haughton  raves  about  me.     But  go  on.'^ 

**  One  by  one,  these  men  are  worth 
something.  Collectively,  they're  just  a 
mob  of  Anglo-Indians.  Who  cares  for 
what  Anglo-Indians  say?  Your  salon 
won't  weld  the  Departments  together  and 
make  you  mistress  of  India,  dear.  And 
these  creatures  won't  talk  administrative 
*  shop  *  in  a  crowd  —  your  salon  —  be- 
cause they  are  so  afraid  of  the  men  in  the 
lower  ranks  overhearing  it.  They  have 
forgotten  what  of  Literature  and  Art  they 
ever  knew,  and  the  women  — " 

"  Can't  talk  about  anything  except  the 
last  Gymkhana,  or  the  sins  of  their  last 
dhai.  I  was  calling  on  Mrs.  Derwills  this 
morning." 

"  You  admit  that?  They  can  talk  to  the 
subalterns  though,  and  the  subalterns  can 
talk  to  them.  Your  salon  would  suit  their 
views  admirably,  if  you  respected  the  re- 
ligious prejudices  of  the  country  and  pro- 
vided plenty  of  kaia  juggahs." 
"*'  Plenty  of  kala  juggahs.     Ch,  my  poor 


12  Under  the  Deodars 

little  idea!     Kala  juggahs  in  a  salon!     But 
who  made  you  so  awfully  clever?  " 

"Perhaps  I've  tried  myself;  or  perhaps 
I  know  a  woman  who  has,  I  have 
preached  and  expounded  the  whole  matter, 
and  the  conclusion  thereof — " 

"  You  needn't  go  on.  *  Is  Vanity/ 
Polly,  I  thank  you.  These  vermin " — 
]\Irs.  Hauksbee  waved  her  hand  from  the 
veranda  to  two  men  in  the  crowd  below 
who  had  raised  their  hats  to  her — "  these 
vermin  shall  not  rejoice  in  a  new  Scandal 
Point  or  an  extra  Peliti's.  I  will  abandon 
the  notion  of  a  salon.  It  did  seem  so 
tempting,  though.  But  what  shall  I  do? 
I  must  do  something." 

''Whv?  Are  not  Abana  and  Phar- 
phar— "' 

*'  Jack  has  made  you  nearly  as  bad  as 
himself!  I  want  to,  of  course.  I'm  tired 
of  everything  and  everybody,  from  a  moon- 
light picnic  at  Seepee,  to  the  blandishments 
of  The  Alussuck." 

''  Yes — that  comes,  too,  sooner  or  later. 
Have  vou  nerve  enough  to  make  vour  bow 
yet?"' 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  mouth  shut  grimly. 
Then  she  laughed.  "  I  think  I  see  myself 
doing  it.  Big  pink  placards  on  the  Mall: 
'  Mrs.  Hauksbee !  Positively  her  last  ap- 
pearance on  a77y  stage  !  This  is  to  give  no- 
tice !  '    No  more  dances ;  no  more  rides  'or 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    i  3 

luncheons;  no  more  theatricals  with  sup- 
per to  follow;  no  more  sparring  with  one's 
dearest,  dearest  friend;  no  more  fencing 
with  an  inconvenient  man  who  hasn't  wit 
enough  to  clothe  what  he's  pleased  to  call 
his  sentiments  in  passable  speech;  no  more 
parading  of  The  5.1ussuck  while  I\Irs.  Tar- 
kass  calls  all  round  Sim.la,  spreading  lior- 
ribie  stoiies  about  me!  Xo  more  of 
anything  that  is  thoroughly  wearying, 
abominable  and  detestable,  but,  all  the 
same,  makes  life  worth  the  having.  Yes! 
I  see  it  alU  Don't  interrupt,  Polly,  I'm  in- 
spired. A.  mauve  and  white  striped  '  cloud  ' 
ror  .d  I'ny  venerable  shoulders,  a  seat  in  the 
tiitAx  .  _»w  of  the  Gaiety,  and  both  horses 
sold.  jJelightful  vision!  A  comfortable 
arm-Lhai*-  situated  in  three  different 
draugrt.^  at  every  ball-room;  and  nice, 
large,  sensible  shoes  for  all  the  couples  to 
stum.ble  over  as  they  go  into  the  veranda! 
Then  bt  supper.  Can't  you  imagine  the 
scenrj^  T,ie  greedy  mob  gone  away.  Re- 
hic'pni  ^'.xai^ern,  pink  all  over  like  a  newly 
p'"wdered  b^by  —  they  really  ought  to  tan 
subalierns  before  they  are  exported  — 
Polly  —  sent  back  by  the  hostess  to  do  his 
duty.  Slouches  up  to  me  across  the  room, 
tugging  at  a  glove  two  sizes  too  large  for 
him  —  I  hate  a  man  who  wears  gloves  like 
overcoats  —  and  trying  to  look  as  if  he'd 
thought  of  it  from  the  first.     '  May  I  ah- 


14  Under  the  Deodars 

have  the  pleasure  'f  takin'  you  'nt'  supper?* 
Then  1  get  up  with  a  hungry  smile.  Just 
like  this." 

"Lucy,  how  can  you  be  so  absurd?" 

"  x\nd  sweep  out  on  his  arm.  So!  After 
supper  I  shall  go  away  early,  you  know, 
because  I  shall  be  afraid  of  catching  cold. 
No  one  will  look  for  my  'rickshaw.  Mine, 
so  please  you!  I  shall  stand,  always  with 
that  mauve  and  vrhite  '  cloud  *  over  my 
head,  w^hile  the  w^et  soaks  into  my  dear,  old, 
venerable  feet  and  Tom  swears  and  shouts 
for  the  memsahib's  gharri.  Then  home  to 
bed  at  naif  past  eleven!  Truly  excellent 
life  - —  helped  out  by  the  visits  of  the  Padri, 
just  fresh  from  burying  somebod}'  down 
below  there."  She  pointed  through  the 
pines,  toward  the  cemetery,  and  continued 
with  vigorous  dramatic  gesture: 

"  Listen !  I  see  it  all  —  down,  down 
even  to  the  stays!  Such  stays!  Six-eight 
a  pair,  Polly,  with  red  flannel — -or  list,  is 
it?  —  that  they  put  into  the  top  of  those 
fearful  things.  I  can  draw  you  a  picture 
of  them." 

"  Lucy,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  go  wav- 
ing your  arms  about  in  that  idiotic  manner! 
Recollect,  every  one  can  see  vou  from  the 
Mall." 

"  Let  them  see !  They'll  think  I  am  re- 
hearsing for  *  The  Fallen  Angel.*     Look! 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    1 5 

Tliere's    The    ^lussuck.     How    badly    he 
rides.     There! " 

She  blew  a  kiss  to  the  venerable  Indian 
administrator  with  infinite  grace. 

"  Now,"  she  continued,  "  he'll  be  chaired 
about  that  at  the  Club  in  the  delicate  man- 
ner those  brutes  of  men  afreet,  and  the 
Hawley  Boy  will  tell  me  all  about  it  — - 
softening  the  details  for  fear  of  shocking 
me.  That  boy  is  too  good  to  live,  Polly. 
I've  serious  thoughts  of  recommending  him 
to  throv/  up  his  commission  and  go  into  the 
Church.  In  his  present  fram.e  of  mind  he 
would  obey  me.     Happy,  happy  child!  " 

"  Never  again,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  with 
an  affectation  of  indignation,  "  shall  you 
tifBn  here!  '  Lucindy,  your  behavior  is 
scand'lus.' " 

"All  your  fault,"  retorted  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee,  "  for  suggesting  such  a  thing  as  my 
abdication.  No!  /amau-Nevaire!  I  will 
act,  dance,  ride,  frivol,  talk  scandal,  dine 
out,  and  appropriate  the  legitimate  captives 
of  any  woman  I  choose,  until  I  d-r-r-rop,  or 
a  better  Vv-oman  than  I  puts  me  to  shame 
before  all  Simla  .  .  .  and  it's  dust  and 
ashes  in  my  m.outh  while  I'm  doing  it!  " 

She  dashed  into  the  drawing-room.  Mrs. 
Mallowe  followed  and  put  an  arm  round 
her  waist. 

"I'm  not!'*  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  de° 
fiantly,  rummaging  in  the  bosom   of  her 


i6  Under  the  Deodars 

dress  for  her  handkerchief.  "  IVe  been 
dining  out  for  the  last  ten  nights,  and  re- 
hearsing in  the  afternoon.  You'd  be  tired 
yourseh*.     It's  only  because  I'm  tired." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  did  not  at  once  overwhelm 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  with  spoken  pity  or  ask 
her  to  lie  down.  She  knew  her  friend  too 
well.  Handing  her  another  cup  of  tea,  she 
went  on  with  the  conversation. 

"  I've  been  through  that  too,  dear,''  she 
said. 

"  I  remember,"  said  }^Irs.  Hauksbee,  a 
gleam  of  fun  on  her  face.  "  In  '84,  wasn't 
it?  You  went  out  a  great  deal  less  next 
season." 

Mrs.  IVIallowe  smiled  in  a  superior  and 
sphinx-like  fashion. 

"  I  became  an  Influence,"  said  she. 
"  Good  gracious,  child,  you  didn't  join 
the  Theosophists  and  kiss  Buddha's  big 
toe,  did  you?  I  tried  to  get  mto  their  set 
once,  but  they  cast  me  out  for  a  skeptic  — 
without  a  chance  of  improving  my  poor 
little  mind,  too." 

"  No,    I    didn't    Theosophilander.     Tack 

says " 

"  Never  mind  Jack.  What  a  husband 
says  is  not  of  the  least  importance.  What 
did  you  do?  " 

"  I  made  a  lasting  impression." 
"  So    have    I  —  for    four    months.     But 
that  didn't  console  me  in  the  leapt.     I  hated 


The  Education  of  Oth  Yeere    17 

the  man.  JVill  you  stop  smiling  in  that 
inscrutable  way  and  tell  me  what  you 
mean? '' 

Uts.  :Mallowe  told. 

****** 

"And  —  you  —  mean — to  —  say  that  it 
is  absolutely  Platonic  on  both  sides?" 

"  Absolutely,  or  I  should  never  have 
taken  it  up."' 

"  And  his  last  promotion  was  due  to 
you  ? " 

r\Irs.  Mallowe  nodded. 

*'  And  you  warned  him  against  the  Top 
sham  girl?" 

Another  nod. 

"  And  told  him  of  Sir  Dugald  Delane's 
private  :\Iemo.  about  him?'' 

A   third  nod. 

"  Whyf  " 

**What  a  question  to  ask  a  woman! 
Because  it  amused  me  at  first.  I  am  proud 
of  my  property  now.  If  I  live,  he  shall 
continue  to  be  successful.  Yes,  I  will  put 
him  upon  the  straight  road  to  Knighthood, 
and  everything  else  that  a  m.an  values. 
The  rest  depends  upon  himself." 

"  Polly,  you  are  a  most  extraordinary 
woman." 

"  Xot  in  the  least.  I'm  concentrated, 
that's  all.  You  diffuse  yourself,  dear;  and 
though  all  Simla  knows  your  skill  in  man- 
aging  a  Team  — " 


1 8  Under  the  Deodars 

"Can't  you  choose  a  prettier  v/ord?** 

**  Team,  of  half  a  dozen,  from  The  Mus- 
suck  to  the  Kawley  Boy,  you  gain  nothing 
by  it.     Noi  even  amusement." 

''  And  you?  " 

"  Try  my  recipe.  Take  a  man,  not  a 
boy,  mind,  bat  an  ahiiost  mature,  unat- 
tached /nan,  and  be  his  guide,  philosopher, 
and  friend,  You'il  lind  it  the  most  inter- 
esting occupaiicn  that  you  ever  embarked 
on.  It  can  be  done  —  you  needn't  look 
like  that  —  because  I've  done  it." 

"  There's  an  element  of  danger  about  ir 
that  makes  the  notion  attractive.  I'll  get 
such  a  man  and  say  to  him:  *  Now  tiiere 
must  be  no  flirtation.  Do  exactly  what  1 
tell  you,  profit  by  my  instruction  and  coun- 
sels, and  all  vnW  vet  be  well,'  as  Toole  says. 
Is  that  the  idea?" 

"  More  or  less,"  said  Mrs,  Mallowe,  with 
an  unfathomable  smile.  "  But  be  sure  he 
understands  that  there  must  be  na 
flirtation." 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    19 


II 


SHOWING  WHAT  WAS  BORN   OF  THE  GREAT 
IDEA. 

Dribble-dribble  —  trickle-trickle  ~ 

What  a  lot  of  raw  dust! 
My  doUie's  had  an  accident 

And  out  came  all  the  sawdust! 

—  Nursery  Rhyme. 

So  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  in  "The  Foundry* 
which  overlooks  Simla  Mall,  sat  at  the  feet 
of  Mrs.  Mallowe  and  gathered  wisdom. 
The  end  of  the  Conference  was  the  Great 
Idea  upon  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  so 
plumed  herself. 

"  I  warn  you/'  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  be- 
ginning to  repent  of  her  suggestion,  "  that 
the  matter  is  not  half  so  easy  as  ii  looks. 
Any  woman  —  even  the  Topsham  girl  — 
can  catch  a  m.an,  but  very,  very  few  know 
how  to  manage  him  when  captured." 

*•  My  child,"  was  the  answer,  '"  I've  been 
a  female  St.  Simon  Stylites  looking  down 
upon  men  for  these  —  these  years  past. 
Ask  The  Mussuck  whether  I  can  manage 
them." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  departed  humming; 
Til  g-o  to  himj  and  sav  to  him  in  m.annei 


20  Under  the  Becdars 

most  ironical."  Mrs.  Mallowe  laughed  to 
herself.  Then  she  grew  suddenly  sober. 
"  I  wonder  whether  I've  done  well  in  ad- 
vising that  amusement?  Lucy's  a  clever 
woman,  but  a  thought  too  mischievous 
where  a  man  is  concerned." 

A  week  later,  the  two  met  at  a  Monday 
Pop.     ''Well?"  said  Mrs.  IMallowe. 

"  Tve  caught  him !  "  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
Her  eyes  w'ere  dancing  with  merriment. 

"Who  is  it,  you  mad  wom^an?  I'm 
sorry  I  ever  spoke  to  you  about  it." 

"  Look  between  the  pillars.  In  the 
third  row;  fourth  from  the  end.  You  can 
see  his  face  now.     Look!  " 

"Otis  Yeere!  Of  all  the  improbable 
people!     I  don't  believe  you." 

"Hush!  Wait  till  Mrs.  Tarkass  begins 
murdering  Milton  Wellings,  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it.  S-s-ss!  There  we  are. 
That  woman's  voice  always  reminds  me  ot 
an  Underground  train  coming  into  Earl's 
Court  with  the  brakes  down.  Now  listen. 
It  is  really  Otis  Yeere." 

"  So  I  see,  but  it  doesn't  follow  that  he 
is  your  property." 

"  He  is!  By  right  of  trove,  as  the  bar- 
risters say.  I  found  him,  lonely  and  unbe- 
friended,  the  very  next  night  after  our  talk, 
at  the  Dugald  Delane's  burra-khana.  I 
liked  his  eyes,  and  I  talked  to  him.  Next 
day  he  called.     Next  day  we  went  for  a 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    21 

ride  together,  and  to-day  he's  tied  to  my 
'rickshaw- wheels  hand  and  foot.  You'll 
see  when  the  concert's  over.  He  doesn't 
know  I'm  here  yet." 

''  Thank  goodness  you  haven't  chosen  a 
boy.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him, 
assuming  that  you've  got  him?  " 

"Assuming,  indeed!  Does  a  woman  — 
do  /  —  ever  make  a  mistake  in  that  sort  cf 
thing?  First  " — Mrs.  Hauksbee  ticked  oft 
the  items  ostentatiously  on  her  daintily 
gloved  fingers  — "  First,  my  dear,  I  shall 
dress  him  properly.  At  present  his  rai- 
ment is  a  disgrace,  and  he  wears  a  dress- 
shirt  like  a  crumpled  sheet  of  the  '  Pioneer/ 
Secondly,  after  I  have  made  him  present- 
able, I  shall  form  his  manners  —  his  morals 
are  above  reproach." 

"  You  seem  to  have  discovered  a  great 
deal  about  him  considering  the  shortness  of 
your  acquaintance." 

"  Surely  ymi  ought  to  know  that  the  first 
proof  a  man  gives  of  his  interest  in  a 
woman  is  by  talking  to  her  about  his  own 
sweet  self.  If  the  woman  listens  without 
yawning,  he  begins  to  like  her.  If  she  flat- 
ters the  animal's  vanity,  he  ends  by  adoring 
her." 

"  In  some  cases." 

"  Never  mind  the  exceptions.  I  know 
which  one  you  are  thinking  of.  Thirdly, 
and  lastly,  after  he  is  polished  and  made 


22  Under  the  Deodars 

pretty,  I  shall,  as  you  said,  be  his  guide, 
philosopher,  and  friend,  and  he  shall  be- 
come a  success  —  as  great  a  success  as 
your  friend.  I  always  wondered  how  that 
man  got  on.  Did  The  Mussuck  come  to 
you  with  the  Civil  List,  and,  dropping  on 
one  knee  —  no,  two  knees,  a  la  Gibbon  — 
hand  it  to  you  and  say :  '  Adorable  angel, 
choose  your  friend's  appointment?'" 

"  Lucy,  your  long  experiences  of  the 
Military  Department  have  demoralized 
you.  One  doesn't  do  that  sort  of  thing  on 
the  Civil  Side." 

"  No  disrespect  meant  to  *  Jack's  Ser- 
vice,' my  dear.  I  only  asked  for  informa- 
tion. Give  me  three  m.onths,  and  see  what 
changes  I  shall  work  in  my  prey." 

"  Go  your  own  way  since  you  must 
But  I'm  sorry  that  I  was  weak  enough  to 
suggest  the  amusement." 

"  '  I  am  all  discretion,  and  may  be  trusted 
to  an  in-finite  extent,'  "  quoted  Mrs=  Hauks- 
bee  from  the  "  The  Fallen  Angel; "  and  the 
conversation  ceased  w4th  ]\Irs.  Tarkass's 
last  long-drawn  war-whoop. 

Her  bitterest  enemies  —  and  she  had 
many  —  could  hardly  accuse  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  of  wasting  her  time.  Otis  Yeere  was 
one  of  those  v/andering  "dumb  "  characters, 
foredoomed  through  life  to  be  "  nobody's 
property."  Ten  years  in  Her  ]\Iajesty's 
Bengal  Civil  Service,  spent,  for  the  most 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    23 

part,  in  undesirable  Districts,  had  dowered 
hiin  vvitli  little  to  be  proud  of,  and  nothing 
ro  give  confidence.  Old  enough  to  have 
lost  the  "  first  fine  careless  rapture "  that 
showers  on  the  immature  'Stunt  imaginary 
Commissionerships  and  Stars,  and  sends 
him  into  the  cellar  with  coltish  earnestness 
and  abandon;  too  young  to  be  yet  able  to 
look  back  upon  the  progress  he  had  made, 
and  thank  Providence  that  under  the  con- 
f'itions  of  to-day  he  had  com.e  even  so  far, 
he  stood  upon  the  "  dead-center "  of  his 
career.  And  when  a  man  stands  still,  he 
feels  the  slightest  impulse  from  v;ithoat. 
Fortune  had  ruled  that  Otis  Yeere  should 
be,  for  the  first  part  of  his  service,  one  of 
the  rank  and  file  who  are  ground  up  in  the 
wheels  of  the  Administration,  losing  heart 
and  soul,  and  mind  and  strength,  in  the 
process.  Until  steam  replaces  maniial 
pov\/er  in  the  working  of  the  Empire,  there 
must  always  be  this  percentage  —  must  al- 
ways be  the  men  v/ho  are  used  up,  ex- 
pended, in  the  mere  mechanical  routine. 
For  these  promotion  is  far  ofiF,  and  the  m.ill- 
grind  of  every  day  very  near  and  instant. 
The  Secretariats  know  them  only  by  name; 
tliey  are  not  the  picked  men  of  the  Districts 
with  the  Divisions  and  Collectorates  await- 
ing them.  They  are  simply  the  rank  and 
file  —  the  food  for  fever  —  sharing  with  the 
ryot  and  the  plow-bullock  the  honor  of  be- 


24  Under  the  Deodars 

ing  the  plinth  on  which  the  State  rests. 
The  older  ones  have  lost  their  aspirations; 
the  younger  are  putting  theirs  aside  with 
a  sigh.  Both  learn  to  endure  patiently  un 
til  the  end  of  the  day.  Twelve  years  in  the 
rank  and  hie,  men  say,  will  sap  the  hearts 
of  the  bravest  and  dull  the  wits  of  the  most 
keen. 

Out  of  this  life  Otis  Yeere  had  tied  for 
a  fevv  months,  drifting,  for  the  sake  of  a 
little  masculine  society,  into  Simla.  When 
his  leave  was  over  he  would  return  to  his 
swampy,  sour-green,  undermanned  district, 
the  native  Assistant,  the  native  Doctor,  the 
native  Magistrate,  the  steaming,  sweltering 
Station,  the  ill-kempt  City,  and  the  undis- 
guised insolence  of  the  Municipality  that 
babbled  away  the  lives  of  men.  Life  was 
cheap,  however.  The  soil  spawned  human- 
ity, as  it  bred  frogs  in  the  Rains,  and  the 
gap  of  the  sickness  of  one  season  v/as  filled 
to  overflowmg  by  the  fecundity  of  the  next. 
Otis  was  unfeignedly  thankful  to  lay  down 
his  work  for  a  little  while  and  escape  from 
the  seething,  whining,  weakly  hive,  impo- 
tent to  help  itself,  but  strong  in  its  power 
to  cripple,  thwart,  and  annoy  the  weary- 
eyed  man  who,  by  official  irony,  was  said 
to  be  ''  in  charge  "  of  it. 

****** 

"  I  knew  there  were  women-dowdies  in 
Bengal.     They  come  up  here  sometimes. 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    25 

But  I  didn't  know  that  there  were  men- 
dowdies,  too." 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  it  occurred  to 
Otis  Yeere  that  his  clothes  were  rather  an- 
cestral in  appearance.  It  will  be  seen  from 
the  above  that  his  friendship  with  Mrs, 
Hauksbee  had  made  great  strides. 

As  that  lady  truthfully  says,  a  man  is 
never  so  happy  as  v/hen  he  is  talking  about 
himself.  From  Otis  Yeere's  lips  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  before  long,  learned  everything 
that  she  wished  to  know  about  the  subject 
of  her  experiment;  learned  what  manner  of 
life  he  had  led  in  what  she  vaguely  called 
'"those  awful  cholera  districts;"  learned, 
too,  but  this  knowledge  came  later,  v/hat 
manner  of  life  he  had  purposed  to  lead,  and 
vrhat  dreams  he  had  dreamed  in  the  year 
of  grace  'jy,  before  the  reality  had  knocked 
'he  heart  out  of  him.  Very  pleasant  are  the 
?hady  bridle-paths  round  Prospect  Hill  for 
:he  telling  of  confidences. 

"Not  yet,"  said  }Jrs.  Hauksbee  to  }Jrs. 
Mallowe.  "  Xot  yet,  I  must  wait  until  the 
man  is  properly  dressed,  at  least.  Great 
heavens,  is  it  possible  that  he  doesn't  know 
what  an  honor  it  is  to  be  taken  up  by  Me^ " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  did  not  reckon  false  mod- 
esty as  one  of  her  failings. 

''Always  with  ^.Irs,  Hauksbee!"  mur- 
mured ^Irs.  ]\Iallowe,  with  her  sweetest 
smiile,  to  Otis,     "  Oh,  you  men.  you  men! 


z6  Under  the  Deodars 

Here  are  our  Punjabis  growling  because 
you've  monopolized  the  nicest  woman  in 
Simla.  The3''ll  tear  you  to  pieces  on  the 
Mali,  some  day,  Mr.  Yeere." 

]\irs.  Mallowe  rattled  down-hil!,  having 
satisfied  herself,  by  a  glance  through  the 
fringe  of  her  sunshade,  of  the  effect  of  her 
words. 

The  shot  went  home.  Of  ?.  surety  Otis 
Yeere  was  somebody  in  this  bewildering 
whirl  of  Simla.  Had  monopolized  the 
nicest  Vv'oman  in  it,  and  the  Punjabis  were 
growling.  The  notion  justified  a  mild  glow 
of  vanity.  He  had  nevex-  reg?»rCi.ed  his  ac- 
quaintance vv^ith  Mrs.  Kaukzbee  as  a  mat- 
ter for  general  interest. 

The  knowledge  of  envy  v/as  a  pleasant 
feeling  to  the  man  of  no  account.  It  'ves 
intensified  later  in  the  day  when  a  luncher 
at  the  Club  said  spitefuliy  '' VVdl,  for  a  de- 
bilitated Ditcher,  ^e^re,  y^'X  are  going  it. 
Hasn't  any  kind  friend  told  you  that  shes 
the  most  dangerous  v/om'^n  in  Sim'c?" 

Yeere  chuckled  and  p-tsce:-  out.  When, 
oh,  when,  would  his  new  cic^he?  be  ready? 
He  descended  into  tne  Mai!  to  inquire;  and 
Mrs.  Kauksbe-^,  corn'ng  over  the  Church 
Ridge  in  her  rickshaw,  looked  down  upon 
nim.  approvingly.  '*  He's  leL^ning  to  carry 
himself  as  if  ne  weie  a  man,  instead  of  a 
oiece  of  furniture,  and "'-—  she  screwed  up 
I;er  eves  to  see  the  better  through  the  sun- 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    27 

nght — "  he  is  a  man  when  he  holds  himself 
like  that.  Oh,  blessed  Conceit,  what 
should  we  be  without  you?" 

With  the  new  clothes  came  a  new  stock 
of  self-confidence.  Otis  Yeere  discovered 
that  he  could  enter  a  room  without  break- 
ing into  a  gentle  perspiration,  and  could 
cross  one,  even  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
as  though  rooms  were  meant  to  be  crossed. 
He  was,  for  the  first  time  in  nine  years, 
proud  of  himself,  and  contented  with  his 
xife,  saiisfied  with  his  new  clothes,  and  re- 
joicing in  the  coveted  friendship  of  Mrs. 
Hauksbee. 

"  Conceit  is  what  the  poor  fellow  wants/' 
she  said  in  confidence  to  Mrs.  Mallowe. 
"  I  believe  they  m.ust  use  the  Civilians  to 
plow  the  fields  with  in  Lower  Bengal. 
You  see,  I  have  to  begin  from  the  very 
beginning  —  haven't  I?  But  you'll  admit, 
won't  you,  dear,  that  he  is  immensely  im- 
proved since  I  took  him  in  hand?  Only 
give  me  a  little  more  time  and  he  v/on't 
know  him  self. '* 

Indeed,  Yeere  was  rapidly  beginning  to 
forget  what  he  had  been.  One  of  his  own 
rank  and  file  put  the  mxatter  in  a  nutshell 
when  he  asked  Yeere,  in  reference  to  noth- 
mg:  "  And  who  has  been  making  you  a 
Member  of  Council,  lately?  You  carry  the 
side  of  half  a  dozen  of  'em." 


28  Under  the  Deodars 

"  I  —  I'm  awf'ly  sorry.  I  didn't  mean  it, 
you  know,"  said  Yeere,  apologetically. 

"  There'll  be  no  holding  you,"  continued 
the  old  stager,  grimly.  *'  Climb  down, 
Otis  —  climb  down,  and  get  all  that  beastly 
affectation  knocked  out  of  you  with  fever! 
Three  thousand  a  month  wouldn't  support 
it." 

Yeere  repeated  the  incident  to  Mrs. 
Hauksbee.  He  had  insensibly  come  to 
look  upon  her  as  his  Fran  Confessorin. 

"  And  you  apologized!  "  she  said.  "  Oh, 
shame!  I  hate  a  man  who  apologizes. 
Never  apologize  for  what  your  friend 
called  '  side.'  Never!  It's  a  man's  business 
to  be  insolent  and  overbearing  until  he 
meets  with  a  stronger.  Now,  you  bad  boy, 
listen  to  me." 

Simply  and  straightforwardly,  as  the 
'rickshaw  loitered  round  Jakko,  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  preached  to  Otis  Yeere  the 
Great  Gospel  of  Conceit,  illustrating  it 
with  living  subjects  encountered  during 
their  Sunday  afternoon  stroll. 

"Good  gracious!"  she  concluded  with 
the  personal  argument,  "  you'll  apologize 
next  for  being  my  attache  f  " 

"Never!"  said  Otis  Yeere.  "That's 
another  thing  altogether.  I  shall  always 
be—" 

"  V\'hat's      coming? "      thought      Mrs 
Hauksbee. 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    29 

"  Proud  of  that,"  said  Otis. 

"  Safe  for  the  present,"  she  said  to 
herseh'. 

'  But  I'm  afraid  I  have  grown  conceited. 
Like  Jeshurun,  you  know.  When  he 
waxed  fat,  then  he  kicked.  It's  the  having 
no  worry  on  one's  mind  and  the  Hill  air, 
I  suppose." 

"Hill  air,  indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  to  herseh*.  *'  He'd  have  been  hiding  in 
the  Club  till  the  last  day  of  his  leave,  if  I 
hadn't  discovered  him."     Then  aloud: 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  be?  You  have 
every  right  to." 

"I!     Why?" 

"  Oh,  hundreds  of  things.  I'm  not  go* 
ing  to  waste  this  lovely  afternoon  by  ex- 
plaining; but  I  know  you  have.  What  was 
that  heap  of  manuscript  you  showed  me 
about  the  grammar  of  the  aboriginal  — 
what's  their  names?" 

"  Gullals.  A  piece  of  nonsense.  I've 
far  too  much  work  to  do  to  bother  over 
Gullals  now.  You  should  see  my  District. 
Come  down  with  your  husband  some  c]rv 
and  I'll  show  you  round.  Such  a  lovely 
place  in  the  Rains!  A  sheet  of  water  with 
the  railway  embankment  and  the  snakes 
sticking  out,  and,  in  the  summer,  green 
flies  and  green  squash.  The  people  would 
die  of  fear  if  you  shook  a  dog-vrhip  at  'em. 
But    they    knov/    you're    forbidden    to    do 


JO  Under  the  Deodars 

that,  so  they  conspire  to  make  your  life  a 
burden  to  you.  My  District's  worked  by 
some  man  at  Darjiling,  on  the  strength  of 
a  pleader's  false  reports.  Oh,  it's  a  heav- 
enly place! " 

Otis  Yeere  laughed  bitterly. 

"  There's  not  the  least  necessity  that  you 
should  stay  in  it.     Why  do  you?  " 

"  Because  I  must.  How'm.  I  to  get  out 
of  it?" 

"How!  In  a  hundred  and  fifty  ways. 
If  there  weren't  so  many  people  on  the 
road,  Id  like  to  box  your  ears.  Ask,  my 
dear  sir,  ask!  Look!  There  is  young 
Hexarly  with  six  years'  service  and  half 
your  talents.  He  asked  for  what  he 
wanted,  and  he  got  it.  See,  down  b^/  the 
Convent!  There's  McArthurson  who  has 
come  to  his  present  position  by  asking  — 
sheer,  downright  asking  —  after  he  had 
pushed  himself  out  of  the  rank  and  file. 
One  man  is  as  good  as  another  in  ycur  ser- 
vice—  believe  me.  I've  seen  Simla  for 
more  seasons  than  I  care  to  think  about. 
Do  you  suppose  men  are  chosen  for  ap- 
pointm.ents  because  of  their  special  fitness 
beforchandf  You  have  all  passed  a  high 
test  —  what  do  you  call  it?  —  in  the  begin- 
ning, and,  excepting  the  three  or  four  who 
have  gone  altogether  to  the  bad,  you  can 
all  work.  Asking  does  the  rest.  Call  it 
clieek.  call  it  insolence,  call  it  anything  you 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere     3 1 

like,  but  ask!  Men  argue — yes,  I  know 
what  men  say — that  a  man,  by  the  mere  au- 
dacity of  his  request,  must  have  some 
good  in  him.  A  weak  man  doesn't  say: 
'  Give  me  this  and  that.'  He  whines : 
'  Why  haven't  I  been  given  this  and  that?  ' 
If  you  were  in  the  Army,  I  should  say 
learn  to  spin  plates  or  play  a  tambourine 
with  your  toes.  As  it  is — ask!  You  be- 
long to  a  Service  that  ought  to  be  able  to 
command  the  Channel  fleet,  or  set  a  leg 
at  twenty  minutes'  notice,  and  yet  you  hesi- 
tate over  asking  to  escape  from  the 
squashy  green  district  where  you  admit  you 
are  not  master.  Drop  the  Bengal  Govern- 
ment altogether.  Even  Darjiling  is  a  little 
out-of-the-way  hole.  I  was  there  once, 
and  the  rents  were  extortionate.  Assert 
yourself.  Get  the  Government  of  India  to 
take  you  over.  Try  to  get  on  the  Fron- 
tier, where  every  man  has  a  grand  chance 
if  he  can  trust  himself.  Go  somewhere! 
Do  something!  You  have  twice  the  wits 
and  three  times  the  presence  of  the  men 
up  here,  and — and  " — ]\Irs.  Hauksbee  paused 
for  breath ;  then  continued — ''  and  in  any 
way  you  look  at  it,  you  ought  to.  Yon  who 
could  go  so  far !  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Yeere,  rather  taken 
aback  by  the  unexpected  eloquence.  "  I 
haven't  such  a  good  opinion  of  myself." 

It  was  not  strictly  Platonic,  but  it  was 


32  Under  the  Deodars 

Policy.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  laid  her  hand 
lightly  upon  the  ungloved  paw  that  rested 
on  the  turned-back  'rickshaw  hood,  and, 
\r  king  the  man  full  in  the  face,  said  ten- 
derly, almost  too  tenderly:  "/  believe  in 
you  if  you  mistrust  yourself.  Is  that 
enough,  my  friend?  " 

''  It  is  enough,"  answered  Otis,  very 
solemnly. 

He  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  redream- 
ing  the  dreams  that  he  had  dreamed  eight 
years  ago,  but  through  them  all  ran,  as 
sheet-lightning  through  a  golden  cloud,  the 
light  of  Mrs.  Hauksbee's  violet  eyes. 

Curious  and  impenetrable  are  the  mazes 
of  Simla  life  —  the  only  existence  in  this 
desolate  land  worth  the  living.  Gradually 
it  went  abroad  among  men  and  women,  in 
the  pauses  between  dance,  play,  and  Gym- 
khana, that  Otis  Yeere,  the  man  with  the 
newly  lit  light  of  self-confidence  in  his  eyes, 
had  '*  done  something  decent "  in  the  wilds 
whence  he  came.  He  had  brought  an  err- 
ing Municipality  to  reason,  appropriated 
the  funds  on  his  own  lesponsibility,  and 
saved  the  lives  of  hundreds.  He  knew 
more  about  the  Gullals  than  any  living  man. 
Had  a  vast  knowledge  of  the  aboriginal 
tribes;  was,  in  spite  of  his  juniority,  the 
greatest  authority  on  the  aboriginal  Gullals. 
No  one  quite  knew  who  or  what  the  Gullals 
were  till  The  Mussuck,  who  had  been  call* 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    33 

ing  on  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  and  prided  himself 
upon  picking  people's  brains,  explained 
they  were  a  tribe  of  ferocious  hill-men, 
somewhere  near  Sikkim,  whose  friendship 
even  the  Great  Indian  Empire  would  find  it 
worth  her  while  to  secure.  Now  we  know 
that  Otis  Yeere  had  showed  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee his  M.  S.  notes  of  six  years'  standing 
on  these  same  Gullals.  He  had  told  her, 
too,  how,  sick  and  shaken  with  the  fever 
their  negligence  had  bred,  crippled  by  the 
loss  of  his  pet  clerk,  and  savagely  angry  at 
the  desolation  in  his  charge,  he  had  once 
damned  the  collective  eyes  of  his  "  intelli- 
gent local  board  "  for  a  set  of  haramzadas. 
Which  act  of  ''brutal  and  tyrannous  op- 
pression "  won  him  a  Reprimand  Royal 
from  the  Bengal  Government;  but  in  the 
anecdote  as  amended  for  Northern  con- 
sumption, we  find  no  record  of  this.  Hence 
ive  are  forced  to  conclude  that  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee "  edited  "  his  reminiscences  before  sow- 
ing them  in  idle  ears,  ready,  as  she  well 
knew,  to  exaggerate  good  or  evil.  And 
Otis  Yeere  bore  himself  as  befitted  the  hero 
of  many  tales. 

"  You  can  talk  to  me  when  you  don't  fall 
into  a  brown  study.  Talk  now,  and  talk 
your  brightest  and  best,"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee. 

Otis  needed  no  spur.  Look  to  a  m.an 
who  has   the   counsel   of  a   woman   of  or 


34  Under  the  Deodars 

above  the  world  to  back  him.  So  long  as 
he  keeps  his  head,  he  can  meet  both  sexes 
on  equal  ground  —  an  advantage  never  in- 
tended by  Providence,  who  fashioned  Man 
on  one  day  and  Woman  on  another,  in  sign 
that  neither  should  know  more  than  a  very 
little  of  the  other's  life.  Such  a  man  goes 
far,  or,  the  counsel  being  withdravv^n,  col- 
lapses suddenly  while  his  world  seeks  the 
reason. 

Generaled  by  ^Irs.  Hauksbee,  who, 
again,  had  all  I\Irs.  Mallowe's  wisdom  at 
her  disposal,  proud  of  himself,  and,  in  the 
end,  believing  in  himself  because  he  was 
believed  in,  Otis  Yeere  stood  ready  for  any 
fortune  that  might  befall,  certain  that  it 
would  be  good.  He  would  fight  for  his 
own  hand,  and  intended  that  this  second 
struggle  should  lead  to  better  issue  than  the 
first  helpless  surrender  of  the  bewildered 
»Stunt. 

What  might  have  happened,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say.  This  lamentable  thing  befell, 
bred  directly  by  a  statement  of  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee that  she  would  spend  the  next  season 
in  Darjiling. 

"  Are  you  certain  of  that? "  said  Otis 
Yeere. 

"  Quite.  W^eVe  writing  about  a  house 
now." 

Otis    Yeere    "stopped    dead/*   as    Mrs. 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    35 

Hauksbee  put  it  in  discussing  the  relapse 
with  Mrs.  Mallowe. 

"  He  has  behaved,"  she  said,  angrily, 
"just  like  Captain  Kerrington's  pony  — 
only  Otis  is  a  donkey  —  at  the  last  Gym- 
khana. Planted  his  forefeet  and  refused  to 
go  on  another  step.  Polly,  my  man's  go- 
ing to  disappoint  me.     What  shall  I  do^" 

As  a  rule,  Mrs.  Mallowe  does  not  ap- 
prove of  staring,  but  on  this  occasion  she 
opened  her  eyes  to  the  utmost. 

"  You  have  managed  cleverly  so  far,'*  she 
said.  "  Speak  to  him,  and  ask  him  what 
he  means.*' 

"  I  will  —  at  to-night's  dance." 

"  No — o,  not  at  a  dance,"  said  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe, cautiously.  "  Men  are  never  them- 
selves quite  at  dances.  Better  wait  till  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  Nonsense.  If  he's  going  to  revert  in 
this  insane  way,  there  isn't  a  day  to  lose. 
Are  you  going?  No!  Then  sit  up  for  me, 
there's  a  dear.  I  sha'n't  stay  longer  than 
supper  under  any  circumstances." 

]\Irs.  Mallowe  waited  through  the  even- 
ing, looking  long  and  earnestly  into  the 
fire,  and  sometimes  smiling  to  herself. 

"  Oh !  oh  !  oh !  The  man's  an  idiot !  A 
raving,  positive  idiot!  Pm  sorry  I  ever 
saw  him !  " 

Mrs.    Hauksbee    burst    into    Mrs.    Mai* 


36 


Under  the  Deodars 


lowe's  house,  at  midnight,  almost  in  tears. 

"What  in  the  world  has  happened?*^ 
said  ]\Irs.  ]\lallowe,  but  her  eyes  showed 
that  she  had  guessed  an  answer. 

"  Happened!  Everything  has  happened! 
He  was  there.  I  went  to  him  and  said: 
'Now,  what  does  this  nonsense  mean?' 
Don't  laugh,  dear,  I  can't  bear  it.  But  you 
know  what  I  mean  I  said.  Then  it  was 
a  square,  and  I  sat  it  out  with  him  and 
wanted  an  explanation,  and  he  said  —  Oh! 
I  ha\'en't  patience  with  such  idiots!  You 
know  what  I  said  about  going  to  Darjiling 
next  year?  It  doesn't  matter  to  me  where 
I  go.  I'd  have  changed  the  Station  and 
lost  the  rent  to  have  saved  this.  He  said, 
in  so  many  words,  that  he  wasn't  going  to 
try  to  work  up  any  more,  because  —  be- 
cause he  would  be  shifted  into  a  province 
away  from  Darjiling,  and  his  own  District, 
where  these  creatures  are,  is  within  a  day's 
journey 


"  Ah — hh!  "  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  in  a  tone 
of  one  who  has  successfully  tracked  an  ob- 
scure word  through  a  large  dictionary. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  so  mad 
—  so  absurd?  And  he  had  the  ball  at  his 
feet.  He  had  only  to  kick  it!  I  would 
have  made  him  ayiything!  Anything  in  the 
wide  world.  He  could  have  gone  to  the 
vv'orld's  end.  I  would  have  helped  him. 
I    made    him,    didn't    I,    Polly?     Didn't    I 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    37 

create  that  man?  Doesn't  he  owe  every- 
thing to  me?  And  to  reward  me,  just 
when  everything  was  nicely  arranged,  by 
this  lunacy  that  spoiled  everything!  " 

"  Very  few  men  understand  devotion 
thoroughly." 

"  Oh,  Polly,  don't  laugh  at  me!  I  give 
men  up  from  this  hour.  I  could  have 
killed  him  then  and  there.  What  right  had 
this  man  —  this  Thing  I  had  picked  out  of 
his   filthy  paddy-fields  —  to  make  love  to 


me 


"  He  did  that,  did  he?  " 

"  He  did.  I  don't  remember  half  he 
said,  I  Avas  so  angry.  Oh,  but  such  a 
funny  thing  happened!  I  can't  help  laugh- 
ing at  it  now,  though  I  felt  nearly  ready  to 
cry  with  rage.  He  raved,  and  I  stormed  — 
I'm  afraid  we  must  have  made  an  awful 
noise  in  our  kala  juggah.  Protect  my 
character,  dear,  if  it's  all  over  Simla  by  to- 
morrow—  and  then  he  bobbed  forward  in 
the  middle  of  this  insanity  —  I  firmly  be- 
lieve the  man's  demented  —  and  kissed 
me." 

"  Morals  above  reproach,"  purred  Mrs. 
Mallowe. 

*'  So  they  were  —  so  they  are !  It  was 
the  most  absurd  kiss.  I  don't  believe  he'd 
ever  kissed  a  woman  in  his  life  before.  I 
threw  my  head  back,  and  it  was  a  sort  of 
slidy,  pecking  dab,  just  on  the  end  of  the 


38 


Under  the  Deodars 


chin  —  here."  Mrs.  Hauksbee  tapped  hei 
rather  mascuHne  chin  \vith  her  fan. 
"  Then,  of  course,  I  was  furiously  angry, 
and  told  him  that  he  was  no  gentleman, 
and  I  was  sorry  I'd  ever  met  him,  and  so 
on.  He  was  crushed  so  easily  that  I 
couldn't  be  very  angry.  Then  I  came 
away  straight  to  you." 

"  Was  this  before  or  after  supper?  " 

"  Oh !  before  —  oceans  before.  Isn't  it 
perfectly  disgusting?  " 

"  Let  me  think.  I  withhold  judgment 
till  to-morrow.     Morning  brings  counsel." 

But  morning  brought  only  a  servant 
with  a  dainty  bouquet  of  Annandale  roses 
for  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  wear  at  the  dance  at 
Viceregal  Lodge  that  night. 

"  He  doesn't  seem  to  be  very  penitent," 
said  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "  What's  the  billet- 
doiix  in  the  center?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  opened  the  neatly  folded 
note  —  another  accomplishment  that  she 
had  taught  Otis  —  read  it,  and  groaned 
tragically. 

"  Last  wreck  of  a  feeble  intellect! 
Poetry!  Is  it  his  own,  do  you  think?  Oh, 
that  I  ever  built  my  hopes  on  such  a 
m.audlin  idiot!  " 

"  No.  It's  a  quotation  from  Mrs. 
Browning,  and,  in  view  of  the  facts  of  the 
case,  as  Jack  says,  uncomm.only  well 
chosen.     Listen: 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere    39 

•*•  Sweet,  thou  hast  trod  on  a  heart  — 
Pass  !  There's  a  world  full  of  men  ; 
And  women  as  fair  as  thou  art, 
Must  do  such  things  now  and  then. 

* '  Thou  only  hast  stepped  unaware  — 
Malice  not  one  can  impute  ; 
And  why  should  a  heart  have  been  there. 
In  the  way  of  a  fair  woman's  foot?  " 

«I  didn't  — I  didn't  — I  didn't!"  said 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  angrily,  her  eyes  filling 
with  tears;  "there  was  no  malice  at  all. 
Oh,  it's  too  vexatious !  " 

"  You've  misunderstood  the  compli- 
ment," said  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "  He  clears 
you  com.pletely,  and  —  ahem !  —  I  should 
think  by  this,  that  he  has  cleared  com- 
pletely, too.  My  experience  of  men  is  that 
when  they  begin  to  quote  poetry,  they  are 
going  to  flit.  Like  swans  singing  before 
they  die,  you  know." 

"  Polly,  you  take  my  sorrows  in  a  most 
unfeeling  way." 

"Do  I?  Is  it  so  terrible?  If  he's  hurt 
your  vanity,  I  should  say  that  you've  done 
a  certain  amount  of  damage  to  his  heart." 

"  Oh,  you  can  never  tell  about  a  man! " 
said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  with  deep  scorn. 

Reviewing  the  matter  as  an  impartial 
outsider,  it  strikes  me  that  I'm  about  the 
only  person  who  has  profited  by  the  edu- 
cation of  Otis  Yeere.  It  comes  to  twenty- 
seven  pages  and  bittock. 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 


Men  say  it  was  a  stolen  tide  — 
The  Lord  that  sent  it  He  knows  all. 

But  in  mine  ear  will  aye  abide 
The  message  that  the  bells  let  fall, 

And  awesome  bells  they  were  to  me, 

That  in  the  dark  rang,  "  Enderby." 

—Jean  Ingelow, 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  Man  and 
his  Wife  and  a  Tertium  Quid. 

All  three  were  unwise,  but  the  Wife  was 
the  unwisest.  The  Man  should  have 
looked  after  his  \\'ife,  who  should  have 
avoided  the  Tertium  Quid,  who,  again, 
should  have  married  a  wife  of  his  own, 
after  clean  and  open  flirtations,  to  which 
nobody  can  possibly  object,  round  Jakko 
or  Observatory  Hill.  When  you  see  a 
young  man  with  his  pony  in  a  white  lather, 
and  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  flying 
down-hill  at  fifteen  miles  an  hour  to  meet 
a  girl  who  will  be  properly  surprised  to 
meet  him,  you  naturally  approve  of  that 
young  man,  and  wish  him  StafT  appoint- 
ments, and  take  an  interest  in  his  welfare, 
40 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  41 

and,  as  the  proper  time  comes,  give  him 
sugar-tongs  or  side-saddles,  acording  to 
your  means  and  generosity. 

The  Tertium  Quid  flew  down-hill  on 
horseback,  but  it  was  to  meet  the  Man's 
Wife;  and  when  he  flew  up-hill  it  was  for 
the  same  end.  The  Man  was  in  the  Plains, 
earning  money  for  his  Wife  to  spend  on 
dresses  and  four-hundred-rupee  bracelets, 
and  inexpensive  luxuries  of  that  kind.  He 
worked  very  hard,  and  sent  her  a  letter  or 
post-card  daily.  She  also  wrote  to  him 
daily,  and  said  that  she  was  longing  for  him 
to  come  up  to  Simla.  The  Tertium  Quid 
used  to  lean  over  her  shoulder  and  laugh 
as  she  wrote  the  notes.  Then  the  two 
would  ride  to  the  post-office  together. 

Now,  Simla  is  a  strange  place,  and  its 
customs  are  peculiar;  nor  is  any  man  who 
has  not  spent  at  least  ten  seasons  there 
qualified  to  pass  judgment  on  circum- 
stantial evidence,  which  is  the  most  un- 
trustworthy in  the  Courts.  For  these 
reason?,  and  for  others  which  need  not 
appear,  I  decline  to  state  positively 
whether  there  was  anything  irretrievably 
wrong  in  the  relations  between  the  Man's 
W^ife  and  the  Tertium  Quid.  If  there  was, 
and  hereon  you  must  form  your  own  opin- 
ion, it  was  the  Man's  Wife's  fault.  She 
was  kittenish  in  her  manners,  wearing 
generally   an   air  of  soft   and   flufTy   Inno- 


42  Under  the  Deodars 

cence.  But  she  was  deadly  learned  and 
evil-instructed ;  and,  now  and  again,  when 
the  mask  dropped,  men  saw  this,  shud- 
dered, and — almost  drew  back.  Men  are 
occasionally  particular,  and  the  least  par- 
ticular men  are  always  the  most  exacting. 

Simla  is  eccentric  in  its  fashion  of  treat- 
ing friendships.  Certain  attachments  which 
have  set  and  cry'stallized  through  half  a 
dozen  seasons  acquire  almost  the  sanctity 
of  the  marriage  bond,  and  are  revered 
as  such.  Again,  certain  attachments  equally 
old,  and,  to  all  appearance,  equally  vener- 
able, never  seem  to  win  any  recognized 
official  status;  while  a  chance-sprung  ac- 
quaintance, not  two  months  old,  steps  into 
the  place  which  by  right  belongs  to  the 
senior.  There  is  no  law  reducible  to  print 
which  regulates  these  affairs. 

Some  people  have  a  gift  which  secures 
them  infinite  toleration,  and  others  have 
not.  The  Man's  Wife  had  not.  If  she 
looked  over  the  garden  wall,  for  instance, 
women  taxed  her  with  stealing  their  hus- 
bands. She  complained  pathetically  that 
she  was  not  allowed  to  choose  her  own 
friends.  When  she  put  up  her  big  white 
muff  to  her  lips,  and  gazed  over  it  and  un- 
der her  eyebrows  at  you  as  she  said  this 
thing,  you  felt  that  she  had  been  infam- 
ously misjudged,  and  that  all  the  other 
women's   instincts   were   all   wrong;   which 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  43 

was  absurd.  She  was  not  allowed  to  own 
the  Tertium  Quid  in  peace;  and  was  so 
strangely  constructed  that  she  would  not 
have  enjoyed  peace  had  she  been  so  per- 
mitted. She  preferred  some  semblance  of 
intrigue  to  cloak  even  her  most  common- 
place actions. 

After  two  months  of  riding,  first  round 
Jakko,  then  Elysium,  then  Summer  Hill, 
then  Observatory  Hill,  then  under  Jutogh, 
and  lastly  up  and  down  the  Cart  Road  as 
far  as  the  Tara  Devi  gap  in  the  dusk,  she 
said  to  the  Tertium  Quid:  ''  Frank,  people 
say  we  are  too  much  together,  and 
people  are  so  horrid." 

The  Tertium  Quid  pulled  his  mustache, 
and  replied  that  horrid  people  were  un- 
worthy of  the  consideration  of  nice  people. 

"  But  they  have  done  more  than  talk  — 
they  have  written  —  written  to  my 
hubby — I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  the  Man's 
Wife;  and  she  pulled  a  letter  from  her  hus- 
band out  of  her  saddle-pocket  and  gave  it 
to  the  Tertium  Quid. 

It  was  an  honest  letter,  written  by  an 
honest  man,  then  stewing  in  the  Plains  on 
two  hundred  rupees  a  month  (for  he 
allowed  his  wife  eight  hundred  and  fifty), 
and  in  a  silk  banian  and  cotton  trousers. 
It  is  said  that,  perhaps,  she  had  not  thought 
of  the  unwisdomi  of  allowing  her  name  to 
be  so  generally  coupled  with  the  Tertium 


44  Under  the  Deodars 

Quid's;  that  she  was  too  much  of  a  child 
to  understand  the  dangers  of  that  sort  of 
thing;  that  he,  her  husband,  was  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  interfere  jealously 
with  her  little  amusements  and  interests, 
but  that  it  would  be  better  were  she  to 
drop  the  Tertium  Quid  quietly  and  for  her 
husband's  sake.  The  letter  was  sweetened 
with  many  pretty  little  pet  names,  and  it 
amused  the  Tertium  Quid  considerably. 
He  and  She  laughed  over  it,  so  that  you, 
fifty  yards  away,  could  see  their  shoulders 
shaking  while  the  horses  slouched  along 
side  by  side. 

Their  conversation  was  not  worth  report- 
ing. The  upshot  of  it  was  that,  next  day, 
no  one  saw  the  Man's  Wife  and  the  Ter- 
tium Quid  together.  They  had  both  gone 
down  To  the  Cemetery,  which,  as  a  rule,  is 
only  visited  officially  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Simla. 

A  Simla  funeral  with  the  clergyman 
riding,  the  mourners  riding,  and  the  coffin 
creaking  as  it  swings  between  the  bearers, 
is  one  of  the  most  depressing  things  on  this 
earth,  particularly  when  the  procession 
passes  under  the  wet,  dank  dip  beneath  the 
Rockclifife  Hotel,  where  the  sun  is  shut  out, 
and  all  the  hill  streams  are  wailing  and 
weeping  together  as  they  go  down  the 
valleys. 

Occasionally,  folk  tend  the  graves;    but 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  45 

we  in  India  shift  and  are  transferred  so 
often  that,  at  the  end  of  the  second  year, 
the  Dead  have  no  friends  —  only  acquaint- 
ances who  are  far  too  busy  amusing  them- 
selves up  the  hill  to  attend  to  old  partners. 
The  idea  of  using  a  Cemetery  as  a  rendez- 
vous is  distinctly  a  feminine  one.  A  man 
would  have  said  simply:  '*  Let  people  talk. 
We'll  go  down  the  Mall."  A  woman  is 
made  differently,  especially  if  she  be  such 
a  woman  as  the  Man's  Wife.  She  and  the 
Tertium  Quid  enjoyed  each  other's  society 
among  the  graves  of  men  and  women  that 
they  had  known  and  danced  with 
aforetime. 

They  used  to  take  a  big  horse-blanket 
and  sit  on  the  grass  a  little  to  the  left  of 
the  lower  end,  where  there  is  a  dip  in  the 
ground,  and  where  the  occupied  graves  die 
out  and  the  ready-made  ones  are  not  ready. 
Any  self-respecting  Indian  Cemetery  keeps 
half  a  dozen  graves  permanently  open  for 
contingencies  and  incidental  wear  and  tear. 
In  the  Hills  these  are  more  usually  baby's 
size,  because  children  who  come  up  weak- 
ened and  sick  from  the  Plains  often  suc- 
cumb to  the  effects  of  the  Rains  in  the 
Hills,  or  get  pneumonia  from  their  ayahs 
taking  them  through  damp  pine-woods 
after  the  sun  has  set.  In  Cantonments,  of 
course,  the  man's  size  is  more  in  request, 


46 


Under  the  Deodars 


these  arrangements  varying  with  the  cli- 
mate and  population. 

One  day  when  the  Man's  Wife  and  the 
Tertium  Quid  had  just  arrived  in  the 
Cemetery,  they  saw  some  cooUes  breaking 
ground.  They  had  marked  out  a  full-sized 
grave,  and  the  Tertium  Quid  asked  them 
whether  any  Sahib  was  sick.  They  said 
that  they  did  not  know ;  but  it  was  an  order 
that  they  should  dig  a  Sahib's  grave. 

"Work  away,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid, 
"  and  let's  see  how  it's  done." 

The  coolies  worked  away,  and  the  Man's 
Wife  and  the  Tertium  Quid  watched  and 
talked  for  a  couple  of  hours  while  the 
grave  was  being  deepened.  Then  a  coolie, 
taking  the  earth  in  baskets  as  it  was  thrown 
up,  jumped  over  the  grave. 

"  That's  queer,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid. 
"Where's  my  ulster?" 

"What's  queer?"  said  the  Man's  Wife. 

"  I  have  got  a  chill  down  my  back 
—  just  as  if  a  goose  had  walked  over  my 
grave." 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  the  horror,  then?  " 
said  the  Man's  Wife.     "  Let  us  go." 

The  Tertium  Quid  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  grave,  and  stared  without  answering 
for  a  space.  Then  he  said,  dropping  a 
pebble  down:  "  It  is  nasty  —  and  cold:  hor- 
ribly cold.     I  don't  think  I  shall  come  to 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  47 

the  Cemetery  any  more.  I  don't  think 
grave-digging  is  cheerful." 

The  two  talked  and  agreed  that  the 
Cemetery  was  depressing.  They  also 
arranged  for  a  ride  next  day  out  from  the 
Cemetery  through  the  Mashobra  Tunnel 
up  to  Fagoo  and  back,  because  all  the 
world  was  going  to  a  garden-party  at  Vice- 
regal Lodge,  and  all  the  people  of  Mash- 
obra would  go  too. 

Coming  up  the  Cemetery  road,  the  Ter- 
tium  Quid's  horse  tried  to  bolt  up-hill, 
being  tired  with  standing  so  long,  and  man- 
aged to  strain  a  back  sinew. 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  the  mare  to-mor- 
row," said  the  Tertium  Quid,  ''  and  she  will 
stand  nothing  heavier  than  a  snaffle." 

They  made  their  arrangements  to  meet 
in  the  Cemetery,  after  allowing  all  the 
Mashobra  people  time  to  pass  into  Simla, 
That  night  it  rained  heavily,  and,  next 
day,  when  the  Tertium  Quid  came  to  the 
trysting-place,  he  saw  that  the  new  grave 
had  a  foot  of  water  in  it,  the  ground  being 
a  tough  and  sour  clay. 

"Jove!  That  looks  beastly,"  said  the 
Tertium  Quid.  "  Fancy  being  boarded  up 
and  dropped  into  that  well!  " 

They  then  started  ofif  to  Fagoo,  the  mare 
playing  with  the  snaffle  and  picking  her 
way  as  though  she  were  shod  with  satin, 
and  the  sun  shining  divinely.     The  road 


4?  Under  the  Deodars 

below  Mashobra  to  Fagoo  is  officially 
styled  the  Himalayan-Thibet  Road;  but  in 
spite  of  its  name  it  is  not  much  more 
than  six  feet  wide  in  most  places,  and  the 
drop  into  the  valley  below  may  be  any- 
thing between  one  and  two  thousand  feet. 

"  Now  we're  going  to  Thibet,"  said  the 
Man's  Wife,  merrily,  as  the  horses  drew 
near  to  Fagoo.  She  was  riding  on  the 
cliff-side. 

*'  Into  Thibet,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid, 
"  ever  so  far  from  people  who  say  horrid 
things,  and  hubbys  who  write  stupid  let- 
ters. With  you  —  to  the  end  of  the 
world!" 

A  coolie  carrying  a  log  of  wood  came 
round  a  corner,  and  the  mare  went  wide 
to  avoid  him  —  forefeet  in  and  hunches 
out,  as  a  sensible  mare  should  go. 

"To  the  world's  end,"  said  the  Man's 
Wife,  and  looked  unspeakable  things  over 
her  near  shoulder  at  the  Tertium  Quid. 

He  was  smiling,  but,  while  she  looked, 
the  smile  froze  stiff,  as  it  were,  on  his  face, 
and  changed  to  a  nervous  grin  —  the  sort 
of  grin  men  wear  when  they  are  not  quite 
easy  in  their  saddles.  The  mare  seemed  to 
be  sinking  by  the  stern,  and  her  nostrils 
cracked  while  she  was  trying  to  realize 
what  was  happening.  The  rain  of  the 
previous  night  had  rotted  the  drop-side  of 
the   Himalavan-Thibet   Road,   and   it   v/as 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  49 

giving  way  under  her.  **  What  are  you 
doing?  "  said  the  Man's  Wife.  The  Ter- 
tium  Quid  gave  no  answer.  He  grinned 
nervously  and  set  his  spurs  into  the  mare, 
who  rapped  with  her  forefeet  on  the  road, 
and  the  struggle  began.  The  Man's  Wife 
screamed:  "  Oh,  Frank,  get  off!  " 

But  the  Tertium  Quid  was  glued  to  the 
saddle  —  his  face  blue  and  white  —  and  he 
looked  into  the  Man's  Wife's  eyes.  Then 
the  Man's  Wife  clutched  at  the  mare's  head 
and  caught  her  by  the  nose  instead  of  the 
bridle.  The  brute  threw  up  her  head  and 
went  down  with  a  scream,  the  Tertium 
Quid  upon  her,  and  the  nervous  grin  still 
set  on  his  face. 

The  Alan's  Wife  heard  the  tinkle- 
tinkle  of  little  stones  and  loose  earth  fall- 
ing ofif  the  road-way,  and  the  sliding  roar 
of  the  man  and  horse  going  down.  Then 
everything  was  quiet,  and  she  called  on 
Frank  to  leave  his  mare  and  walk  up.  But 
Frank  did  not  answer.  He  was  under- 
neath the  mare,  nine  hundred  feet  below, 
spoiling  a  patch  of  Indian  corn. 

As  the  revelers  came  back  from  Vice- 
regal Lodge  in  the  mists  of  the  evening, 
they  met  a  temporarily  insane  woman,  on 
a  temporarily  mad  horse,  swinging  round 
the  corners,  with  her  eyes  and  her  mouth 
open,  and  her  head  like  the  head  of  a 
Medusa.     She  was  stopped  by  a  man  at  the 


5©  Under  the  Deodars 

risk  of  his  life,  and  taken  out  of  the  saddle, 
a  limp  heap,  and  put  on  the  bank  to  ex- 
plain herself.  This  wasted  twenty  minutes, 
and  then  she  was  sent  home  in  a  lady's 
Vickshaw,  still  with  her  mouth  open  and 
her  hands  picking  at  her  riding-gloves. 

She  was  in  bed  for  the  following  three 
days,  which  were  rainy;  so  she  missed 
attending  the  funeral  of  the  Tertium  Quid, 
who  was  lowered  into  eighteen  inches  of 
water,  instead  of  the  twelve  to  which  he 
had  first  objected. 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 


Because  to  every  purpose  there  is  time  and  judg- 
ment; therefore  the  misery  of  man  is  great  upon 
him. — Eccl.  viii.  6. 

Fate  and  the  Government  of  India  have 
turned  the  Station  of  Kashima  into  a 
prison;  and,  because  there  is  no  help  for 
the  poor  souls  who  are  now  lying  there  in 
torment,  I  write  this  story,  praying  that  the 
Government  of  India  may  be  moved  to 
scatter  the  European  population  to  the  four 
winds. 

Kashima  is  bounded  on  all  sides  by  the 
rock-tipped  circle  of  the  Dosehri  hills.  In 
Spring,  it  is  ablaze  with  roses;  in  Summer, 
the  roses  die  and  the  hot  winds  blow  from 
the  hills;  in  Autumn,  the  white  mists 
from  the  jhils  cover  the  place  as  with 
water,  and  in  Winter  the  frosts  nip  every- 
thing young  and  tender  to  earth  level. 
There  is  but  one  view  in  Kashima  —  that 
of  a  stretch  of  perfectly  flat  pasture  and 
plow-land,  running  up  to  the  gray-blue 
scrub  of  the  Dosehri  hills. 


52  Under  the  Deodars 

There  are  no  amusements  except  snipe 
and  tiger  shooting;  but  the  tigers  have 
long  since  been  hunted  from  their  lairs  in 
the  rock-caves,  and  the  snipe  only  come 
once  a  year.  Narkarra  —  one  hundred 
and  forty-three  miles  by  road  —  is  the 
nearest  station  to  Kashima.  But  Kashima 
never  goes  to  Narkarra,  where  there  are  at 
least  twelve  English  people.  It  stays  within 
the  circle  of  the  Dosehri  hills. 

All  Kashima  acquits  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
of  any  intention  to  do  harm;  but  all 
Kashima  knows  that  she,  and  she  alone, 
brought  about  their  pain. 

Boulte,  the  engineer,  Mrs.  Boulte  and 
Captain  Kurrell  know  this.  They  are  the 
English  population  of  Kashima,  if  we 
except  Major  Vansuythen,  who  is  of  no 
importance  whatever,  and  Mrs.  Vansu}-- 
then,  who  is  the  most  important  of  all. 

You  must  remember,  though  you  will 
not  understand,  that  all  laws  weaken  in  a 
small  and  hidden  community  where  there 
is  no  public  opinion.  If  the  Israelites  had 
been  only  a  ten-tent  camp  of  gypsies,  their 
Headman  would  never  have  taken  the 
trouble  to  climb  a  hill  and  bring  down  the 
lithographed  edition  of  the  Decalogue,  and 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  would  have  been 
avoided.  When  a  man  is  absolutely  alone 
in  a  Station,  he  runs  a  certain  risk  of  falling 
into  evil  ways.    This  risk  is  multiplied  by 


A  Wayside  Comedy  53 

every  addition  to  the  population  up  to 
twelve  —  the  Jury  number.  After  that, 
fear  and  consequent  restraint  begin,  and 
liuman  action  becomes  less  grotesquely 
jerky. 

There  was  deep  peace  in  Kashima  till 
Mrs.  Vansuythen  arrived.  She  was  a 
charming  woman,  every  one  said  so  every- 
where; and  she  charmed  every  one.  In 
spite  of  this,  or,  perhaps,  because  of  this, 
since  Fate  is  so  maliciously  perverse,  she 
cared  only  for  one  man,  and  he  was  ]\Iajor 
Vansuythen.  Had  she  been  plain  or  stupid, 
this  matter  would  have  been  intelligible  to 
Kashima.  But  she  was  a  fair  woman,  with 
very  still  gray  eyes,  the  color  of  a  lake 
just  before  the  light  of  the  sun  touches  it. 
No  man  who  had  seen  those  eyes  could, 
later  on,  explain  what  fashion  of  woman 
she  was  to  look  upon.  The  eyes  dazzled 
him.  Her  own  sex  said  that  she  was  ''  not 
bad  looking,  but  spoiled  by  pretending  to 
be  so  grave."  And  yet  her  gravity  was 
natural.  It  was  not  her  habit  to  smile. 
She  merely  went  through  life,  looking 
at  those  who  passed;  and  the  women 
objected,  while  the  men  fell  down  and 
worshiped. 

She  knows  and  is  deeply  sorry  for  the 
evil  she  has  done  to  Kashima;  but  Major 
Vansuythen  can  not  understand  why  ]\Irs. 
Boulte  does  not  drop  in  to  afternoon  tea  at 


54  Under  the  Deodars 

least  three  times  a  week.  "  When  there  are 
only  two  women  in  one  Station,  they  ought 
to  see  a  great  deal  of  each  other,"  says 
Major  Vansuythen. 

Long  and  long  before  ever  Mrs.  Vansuy- 
then  came   out   of   those   far-away   places 
where  there  is  society  and  amusement,  Kur- 
rell  had  discovered  that  Mrs.  Boulte  was 
the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him,  and  — 
you  dare  not  blame  them.    Kashima  was  as 
out  of  the  world  as  Heaven  or  the  other 
place,    and    the    Dosehri    hills    kept    their 
secret  well.     Boulte  had  no  concern  in  the 
matter.    He  was  in  camp  for  a  fortnight  at 
a  time.     He  was  a  hard,  heavy  man,  and 
neither  ]\Irs.  Boulte  nor  Kurrell  pitied  him. 
They  had  all  Kashima  and  each  other  for 
their  very,  very  own;    and  Kashima  was 
the  Garden  of  Eden  in  those  days.     When 
Boulte   returned  from   his   wanderings   he 
would  slap  Kurrell  between  the  shoulders 
and  call  him  "  old  fellow,"  and  the  three 
w^ould  dine  together.    Kashima  was  happy 
then,  when  the  judgment  of  God  seemed 
almost  as  distant  as  Narkarra  or  the  rail- 
way that  ran  down  to  the  sea.     But  the 
Government    sent    Major    Vansuythen    to 
Kashima,  and  with  him  came  his  wife. 

The  etiquette  of  Kashima  is  much  the 
same  as  that  of  a  desert  island.  When  a 
stranger  is  cast  away  there,  all  hands  go 
down  to  the  shore  to  make  him  welcome. 


A  Wayside  Comedy  55 

Kashima  assembled  at  the  masonry  plat- 
form close  to  the  Narkarra  Road,  and  spread 
tea  for  the  \^ansuythens.  That  ceremony 
was  reckoned  a  formal  call,  and  made  them 
free  of  the  Station,  its  rights  and  privileges. 
When  the  Vansuythens  were  settled  down, 
they  gave  a  tiny  house-warming  to  all 
Kashim^a;  and  that  made  Kashima  free  of 
their  house,  according  to  the  immemorial 
usage  of  the  Station. 

Then  the  Rains  came,  when  no  one  could 
go  into  camp,  and  the  Narkarra  Road  was 
w^ashed  away  by  the  Kasun  River,  and  in 
the  cup-like  pastures  of  Kashima  the  cattle 
waded  knee-deep.  The  clouds  dropped 
down  from  the  Dosehri  hills  and  covered 
everything. 

At  the  end  of  the  Rains,  Boulte's  manner 
toward  his  wife  changed  and  became 
demonstratively  affectionate.  They  had 
been  married  twelve  years,  and  the  change 
startled  Mrs.  Boulte,  who  hated  her  hus- 
band with  the  hate  of  a  woman  who  has 
met  with  nothing  but  kindness  from  her 
mate,  and,  in  the  teeth  of  this  kindness,  has 
done  him  a  great  wrong.  Moreover,  she 
had  her  own  trouble  to  fight  with  —  her 
watch  to  keep  over  her  own  property, 
Kurrell.  For  two  months  the  Rains  had 
hidden  the  Dosehri  hills  and  many  other 
things  beside;  but,  when  they  lifted,  they 
showed  ]\Irs.  Boulte  that  her  man  among 


56 


Under  the  Deodars 


men,  her  Ted  —  for  she  called  him  Ted  in 
the  old  days  when  Boulte  was  out  of  ear- 
shot —  was  slipping  the  links  of  the  alle- 
giance. 

"  The  Vansuythen  Woman  has  taken 
him,"  Mrs.  Boulte  said  to  herself;  and  when 
Boulte  was  away,  wept  over  her  belief, 
in  the  face  of  the  over-vehement  blandish- 
ments of  Ted.  Sorrow  in  Kashima  is  as 
fortunate  as  Love,  in  that  there  is  nothing 
to  weaken  it  save  the  flight  of  Time.  Mrs. 
Boulte  had  never  breathed  her  suspicion 
to  Kurrell,  because  she  was  not  certain; 
and  her  nature  led  her  to  be  very  certain 
before  she  took  steps  in  any  direction. 
That  is  why  she  behaved  as  she  did. 

Boulte  came  into  the  house  one  evening, 
and  leaned  against  the  door-post  of  the 
drawing-room,  chewing  his  mustache.  Mrs. 
Boulte  was  putting  some  flowers  into  a 
vase.  There  is  a  pretense  of  civilization 
even  in  Kashima, 

"  Little  woman,"  said  Boulte,  quietly, 
"  do  you  care  for  me?  " 

*'  Immensely,"  said  she,  with  a  laugh. 
•^  Can  you  ask  it?" 

"But  I'm  serious,"  said  Boulte.  "Do 
you  care  for  me?  " 

I\Irs.  Boulte  dropped  the  flowers,  and 
turned  round  quickly.  "  Do  you  want  an 
honest  answer?  " 

"  Ye-es;  I've  asked  for  it." 


A  Wayside  Comedy  57 

Mrs.  Boulte  spoke  in  a  low,  even  voice 
for  five  minutes,  very  distinctly,  that  there 
might  be  no  misunderstanding  her  mean- 
ing. When  Samson  broke  the  pillars  of 
Gaza,  he  did  a  little  thing,  and  one  not  to  be 
compared  to  the  deliberate  pulling  down  of 
a  woman's  homestead  about  her  own  ears. 
There  was  no  wise  female  friend  to  advise 
Mrs.  Boulte,  the  singularly  cautious  wife, 
to  hold  her  hand.  She  struck  at  Boulte's 
heart,  because  her  own  was  sick  with  suspi- 
cion of  Kurrell,  and  worn  out  with  the  long 
strain  of  watching  alone  through  the  Rains. 
There  was  no  plan  or  purpose  in  her  speak- 
ing. The  sentences  made  themselves;  and 
Boulte  listened,  leaning  against  the  door- 
post with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  When 
all  was  over,  and  Mrs.  Boulte  began  to 
breathe  through  her  nose  before  breaking 
out  into  tears,  he  laughed  and  stared 
straight  in  front  of  him  at  the  Dosehri  hills. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  he  said.  ''  Thanks;  I  only 
wanted  to  know,  you  know." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  said  the 
woman,  between  her  sobs. 

*'Do!  Nothing.  What  should  I  do? 
Kill  Kurrell  or  send  you  home,  or  apply  for 
leave  to  get  a  divorce?  It's  two  days'  dak 
into  Narkarra."  He  laughed  again  and 
went  on :  "  I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do. 
You  can  ask  Kurrell  to  dinner  to-morrow 
—  no,  on  Thursday;    that  will  allow  you 


58  Under  the  Deodars 

time  to  pack  —  and  you  can  bolt  with  him. 
I  give  you  my  word,  I  won't  follow." 

He  took  up  his  helmet  and  went  out  of 
the  room,  and  Mrs.  Boulte  sat  till  the 
moonlight  streaked  the  floor,  thinking  and 
thinking  and  thinking.  She  had  done  her 
best  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment  to  pull 
the  house  down;  but  it  would  not  fall. 
Moreover,  she  could  not  understand  her 
husband,  and  she  was  afraid.  Then  the 
folly  of  her  useless  truthfulness  struck  her^ 
and  she  was  ashamed  to  write  to  Kurrell, 
saying:  "  I  have  gone  mad  and  told  every- 
thing. My  husband  says  that  I  am  free  to 
elope  with  you.  Get  a  dak  for  Thursday 
and  we  will  fly  after  dinner."  There  was  a 
cold-bloodedness  about  that  procedure 
which  did  not  appeal  to  her.  So  she  sat 
still  in  her  own  house  and  thought. 

At  dinner-time  Boulte  came  back  from 
his  walk,  white  and  worn  and  haggard,  and 
the  woman  was  touched  at  his  distress.  As 
the  evening  wore  on,  she  muttered  some 
expression  of  sorrow,  something  approach- 
ing tc>  contrition.  Boulte  came  out  of  a 
brown  study,  and  said:  "Oh,  that!  I 
wasn't  thinking  about  that.  By  the  way, 
what  does  Kurrell  say  to  the  elopement?" 

"  I  haven't  seen  him,"  said  Mrs.  Boulte. 
"Good  God!  is  that  all?" 

But  Boulte  was  not  listening,  and  her 
sentence  ended  in  a  gulp. 


A  Wryside  Comedy         59 

The  next  day  brought  no  comfort  to 
Mrs.  Bouhe,  for  Kurrell  did  not  appear, 
and  the  new  hfe  that  she,  in  the  five  min- 
utes' madness  of  the  previous  evening,  had 
hoped  to  build  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  old, 
seemed  to  be  no  nearer. 

Boulte  eat  his  breakfast,  advised  her  to 
see  her  Arab  pony  fed  in  the  veranda,  and 
went  out.  The  morning  wore  through,  and 
at  midday  the  tension  became  unendurable. 
Mrs.  Boulte  could  not  cry.  She  had 
finished  her  crying  in  the  night,  and  now 
she  did  not  want  to  be  left  alone.  Perhaps 
the  Vansuythen  Woman  would  talk  to  her; 
and,  since  talking  opens  the  heart,  perhaps 
there  might  be  some  comfort  to  be  found 
in  her  company.  She  was  the  only  other 
woman  in  the  Station. 

In  Kashima  there  are  no  regular  calling 
hours.  Every  one  can  drop  in  upon  every 
one  else  at  pleasure.  Mrs.  Boulte  put  on 
a  big  terai  hat,  and  walked  across  to  the 
Vansuythens'  house  to  borrow  last  week's 
"  Queen."  The  two  compounds  touched, 
and  instead  of  going  up  the  drive  she 
crossed  through  the  gap  in  the  cactus- 
hedge  entering  the  house  from  the  back. 
As  she  passed  through  the  dining-room, 
she  heard,  behind  the  purdah  that  cloaked 
the  drawing-room  door,  her  husband's 
voice,  saying: 

"But  on  my  Honor!     On  my  Soul  and 


6o  Under  the  Deodars 

Honor,  I  tell  you  she  doesn't  care  for  me. 
She  told  me  so  last  night.  I  would  have 
told  you  then  if  Vansuythen  hadn't  been 
with  you.  If  it  is  for  her  sake  that  you'll 
have  nothing  to  say  to  me,  you  can  make 
your  mind  easy.    It's  Kurrell — " 

*'  What?  "  said  ^Irs.  Vansuythen,  with  an 
hysterical  little  laugh.  "Kurrell!  Oh,  it 
can't  be!  You  two  must  have  made  some 
horrible  mistake.  Perhaps  you  —  you  lost 
your  temper,  or  misunderstood,  or  some- 
thing. Things  can't  be  as  wrong  as  vou 
say." 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  had  shifted  her  defense 
to  avoid  the  man's  pleading,  and  was 
desperately  trying  to  keep  him  to  a  side- 
issue. 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,"  she 
insisted,  '*  and  it  can  be  all  put  right  again." 

Boulte  laughed  grimly. 

"It  can't  be  Captain  Kurrell!  He  told 
me  that  he  had  never  taken  the  least 
—  the  least  interest  in  your  wife,  Mr. 
Boulte.  Oh,  Jo  listen!  He  said  he  had  not. 
He  svrore  he  had  not,"  said  Mrs.  \^an- 
suythen. 

The  purdah  rustled,  and  the  speech  was 
cut  short  by  the  entry  of  a  little,  thin 
woman,  with  big  rings  round  her  eyes. 
Mrs.  Vansuythen  stood  up  with  a  gasp. 

"What  was  that  you  said?"  asked  Mrs. 
Boulte.     "  Never  mind  that  man.     What 


A  Wayside  Comedy         61 

did  Ted  say  to  you?  What  did  he  say  to 
you?    What  did  he  say  to  you?" 

yirs.  \^ansuythen  sat  down  helplessly  on 
the  sofa,  overborne  by  the  trouble  of  her 
questioner. 

''He  said  —  I  can't  remember  exactly 
what  he  said  —  but  I  understood  him  to 
say  —  that  is  .  .  .  But,  really,  ^Ivs, 
Boulte,  isn't  it  rather  a  strange  question?" 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  he  said  ? "  re- 
peated Mrs.  Boulte.  Even  a  tiger  will  fly 
before  a  bear  robbed  of  her  whelps,  and 
I\Irs.  Vansuythen  was  only  an  ordinarily 
good  woman.  She  began  in  a  sort  of 
desperation:  "Well,  he  said  that  he  never 
cared  for  you  at  all,  and,  of  course,  there 
was  not  the  least  reason  why  he  should 
have,  and  —  and  —  that  was  all." 

"  You  said  he  swore  he  had  not  cared  for 
me.    Was  that  true?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  ]\Irs.  Vansuythen,  very 
softly. 

Mrs.  Boulte  wavered  for  an  instant 
where  she  stood,  and  then  fell  forward 
fainting. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Boulte,  as 
though  the  conversation  had  been  un- 
broken. "  You  can  see  for  yourself.  She 
cares  for  him.''  The  light  began  to  break 
into  his  dull  mind,  and  he  went  on:  "And 
he  —  what  was  he  saying  to  you?  " 

But  Mrs.  \'ansuythen,  with  no  heart  for 


62  Under  the  Deodars 

explanations  or  impassioned  protestations, 
was  kneeling  over  Mrs.  Boulte. 

'*  Oh,  you  brute!"  she  cried.  "Are  all 
men  like  this?  Help  me  to  get  her  into  my 
room  —  and  her  face  is  cut  against  the 
table.  Oh,  zi'ill  you  be  quiet,  and  help  me 
to  carry  her?  I  hate  you,  and  I  hate 
Captain  Kurrell.  Lift  her  up  carefully, 
and  now  —  go!     Go  away!  " 

Bouite  carried  his  wife  into  i\Irs.  Van- 
suythen's  bedroom,  and  departed  before 
the  storm  of  that  lady's  wrath  and  disgust, 
impenitent  and  burning  with  jealousy. 
Kurrell  had  been  making  love  to  ]\Irs.  Van- 
suythen  —  would  do  Vansuythen  as  great 
a  wrong  as  he  had  done  Boulte,  who  caught 
himself  considering  whether  ]\Irs.  Vansuy- 
then would  faint  if  she  discovered  that  the 
man  she  loved  had  foresworn  her. 

In  the  middle  of  these  meditations, 
Kurrell  came  cantering  along  the  road  and 
pulled  up  with  a  cheery:  "  Good-mornin'. 
'Been  mashing  ^Irs.  Vansuythen  as  usual, 
eh?  Bad  thing  for  a  sober,  married  man, 
that.     What  will  yivs.  Boulte  say?  " 

Boulte  raised  his  head  and  said,  slowly: 

*'  Oh,  you  liar!  "    Kurrell's  face  changed. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"Nothing  much,"  said  Boulte.  "Has 
my  wife  told  you  that  you  two  are  free  to 
go  ofif  whenever  you  please?  She  has  been 
good    enough    to    explain    the    situation 


A  Wayside  Comedy         63 

to  me.  You've  been  a  true  friend  to  me, 
Kurrell  —  old  man  —  haven't  you?" 

Kurrell  groaned,  and  tried  to  frame  some 
sort  of  idiotic  sentence  about  being  willing 
to  give  "  satisfaction."  But  his  interest  in 
the  womian  was  dead,  had  died  out  in  the 
Rains,  and,  mentally,  he  was  abusing  her 
for  her  amazing  indiscretion.  It  would 
have  been  so  easy  to  have  broken  off  the 
liaison  gently  and  by  degrees,  and  now  he 
v.as  saddled  with  .  .  .  Boulte's  voice 
recalled  him. 

*'  I  don't  think  I  should  get  any  satisfac- 
tion from  killing  you,  and  I'm  pretty  sure 
you'd  get  none  from  killing  me." 

Then  in  a  querulous  tone,  ludicrously  dis- 
proportioned  to  his  wrongs,  Boulte  added: 

"  'Seems  rather  a  pity  that  you  haven't 
the  decency  to  keep  to  the  woman,  now 
youVe  got  her.  You've  been  a  true  friend 
to  her  too,  haven't  you?  " 

Kurrell  stared  long  and  gravely.  The 
situation  was  getting  beyond  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean? "  he  said. 

Boulte  answered,  more  to  himself  than 
the  questioner:  "My  wife  came  over  to 
Mrs.  Vansuythen's  just  now;  and  it  seems 
you'd  been  teUing  ^Irs.  \'ansuythen  that 
you'd  never  cared  for  Emma.  I  sup- 
pose you  lied,  as  usual.  What  had  Mrs. 
Vansuythen  to  do  with  you,  or  you  with 


64  Under  the  Deodars 

her?  Try  to  speak  the  truth  for  once  in  a 
way." 

Kurrell  took  the  double  insult  without 
wincing,  and  replied  by  another  question, 

"  Go  on.    What  happened?  " 

"  Emma  fainted,"  said  Boulte,  simply, 
'"*  But,  look  here,  what  had  you  been  saying 
to  Mrs.  Vansuythen?  " 

Kurrell  laughed.  Mrs.  Boulte  had, 
with  unbridled  tongue,  made  havoc  of  his 
plans;  and  he  could  at  least  retaliate  by 
hurting  the  man  in  whose  eyes  he  was 
humiliated  and  shown  dishonorable. 

"  Said  to  her?  What  does  a  man  tell  a  lie 
like  that  for?  I  suppose  I  said  pretty  much 
what  you've  said,  unless  I'm  a  good  deal 
mistaken." 

"  I  spoke  the  truth,"  said  Boulte,  again 
more  to  himself  than  Kurrell.  "  Emma 
told  me  she  hated  me.  She  has  no  right 
in  me." 

*'No!  I  suppose  not.  You're  only  her 
husband,  y'know.  And  what  did  Mrs. 
Vansuythen  say  after  you  had  laid  your 
disengaged  heart  at  her  feet?  " 

Kurrell  felt  almost  virtuous  as  he  put  the 
question. 

"  I  don't  think  that  matters,"  Boulte 
replied ;  "  and  it  doesn't  concern  you." 

"  But  it  does!  I  tell  you  it  does,"  began 
Kurrell,  shamelessly. 

The  sentence  was  cut  by  a  roar  of  laugh- 


A  Wayside  Comedy         65 

ter  from  Boulte's  lips.  Kurrell  was  silent 
for  an  instant,  and  then  he,  too,  laughed  — 
laughed  long  and  loudly,  rocking  in  his 
saddle.  It  was  an  unpleasant  sound  —  the 
mirthless  mirth  of  these  men  on  the  long, 
white  line  of  the  Narkarra  Road.  There 
were  no  strangers  in  Kashima,  or  they 
might  have  thought  that  captivity  within 
the  Dosehri  hills  had  driven  half  the  Euro- 
pean population  mad.  The  laughter 
stopped  abruptly.  Kurrell  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

Boulte  looked  up  the  road,  and  at  the 
hills.  "  Nothing,"  said  he,  quietly.  "  What's 
the  use?  It's  too  ghastly  for  anything.  We 
must  let  the  old  life  go  on.  I  can  only  call 
you  a  hound  and  a  liar,  and  I  can't  go  on 
calling  you  names  forever.  Besides  which, 
I  don't  feel  that  I'm  much  better.  We 
can't  get  out  of  this  place,  y'know.  What 
is  there  to  do?  " 

Kurrell  looked  round  the  rat-pit  of 
Kashima,  and  made  no  reply.  The  injured 
husband  took  up  the  wondrous  tale. 

"  Ride  on,  and  speak  to  Emma  if  you 
want  to.  God  knows  /  don't  care  what 
you  do." 

He  walked  forward,  and  left  Kurrell 
gazing  blankly  after  him.  Kurrell  did  not 
ride  on  either  to  see  Mrs.  Boulte  or  Mrs. 
Yansuythen.     He    sat    in    his    saddle    and 


66  Under  the  Deodars 

thought,    while    his    pony    grazed   by    the 
road-side. 

The  whirr  of  approaching  wheels  roused 
him.  Mrs.  Vansuythen  was  driving  home 
Mrs.  Boulte,  white  and  wan,  with  a  cut  on 
her  forehead. 

"  Stop,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Boulte.  "  I 
want  to  speak  to  Ted." 

i\Irs.  Vansuythen  obeyed,  but  as  Mrs. 
Boulte  leaned  forward,  putting  her  hand 
upon  the  splash-board  of  the  dog-cart, 
Kurrell  spoke. 

"  I've  seen  your  husband,  ]Mrs.  Boulte." 

There  was  no  necessity  for  any  further 
explanation.  The  man's  eyes  were  fixed, 
not  upon  Mrs.  Boulte,  but  her  companion. 
Mrs.  Boulte  saw  the  look. 

"  Speak  to  him !  "  she  pleaded,  turning 
to  the  woman  at  her  side.  "  Oh,  speak  to 
him!  Tell  him  what  you  told  me  just  now. 
Tell  him  you  hate  him!  Tell  him  you  hate 
him!" 

She  bent  forward  and  wept  bitterly,  while 
the  sais,  decorously  impassive,  went  for- 
ward to  hold  the  horse.  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
turned  scarlet  and  dropped  the  rein.  She 
wished  to  be  no  party  to  such  an  unholy 
explanation. 

"  I've  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she  began, 
coldly;  but  Mrs.  Boulte's  sobs  overcame 
her,  and  she  addressed  herself  to  the  man. 
"  I  don't  know  what  I  am  to  say,  Captain 


A  Wayside  Comedy         67 

Kurrell.  I  don't  know  what  I  can  call  you. 
I  think  you've  —  you've  behaved  abomi- 
nably, and  she  has  cut  her  forehead  terribly 
against  the  table." 

"  It  doesn't  hurt.  It  isn't  anything," 
said  Mrs.  Boulte,  feebly.  '*  That  doesn't 
matter.  Tell  him  what  you  told  me.  Say 
}'ou  don't  care  for  him.  Oh,  Ted,  won't 
you  believe  her?" 

"  Mrs.  Boulte  has  made  me  understand 
that  you  were  —  that  you  were  fond  of  her 
once  upon  a  time,"  went  on  ]\Irs.  Vansuy- 
then. 

"Well!"  said  Kurrell,  brutally.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  ^.Irs.  Boulte  had  better  be 
fond  of  her  own  husband  first." 

"Stop!"  said  'Sirs.  Vansuythen.  "Hear 
me  first.  I  don't  care  —  I  don't  want  to 
know  anything  about  you  and  ]\Irs.  Boulte; 
but  I  want  yoic  to  know  that  I  hate  you; 
that  I  think  you  are  a  cur,  and  that  I'll 
never,  never  speak  to  you  again.  Oh,  I 
don't  dare  to  say  what  I  think  of  you, 
}ou     .     .     .    man !    Sais,  gorah  ko  jane  do.'' 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  Ted."  moaned  Mrs. 
Boulte;  but  the  dog-cart  rattled  on,  and 
Kurrell  was  left  on  the  road,  shamed,  and 
boiling  with  wrath  against  ]\irs.  Boulte. 

He  waited  till  ]\Irs.  Vansuythen  was 
driving  back  to  her  own  house,  and,  she, 
being  freed  from  the  embarrassment  of 
-Mrs.    Boulte's    presence,    learned    for    the 


68  Under  the  Deodars 

second  time  a  truthful  opinion  of  himself 
and  his  actions. 

In  the  evenings,  it  was  the  wont  of  all 
Kashima  to  meet  at  the  platform  on  the 
Narkarra  Road,  to  drink  tea,  and  discuss 
the  trivialities  of  the  day.  ^^lajor  Vansuy- 
then  and  his  wife  found  themselves  alone 
at  the  gathering-place  for  almost  the  first 
time  in  their  remembrance;  and  the  cheery 
!Major,  in  the  teeth  of  his  wife's  remark- 
ably reasonable  suggestion  that  the  rest  of 
the  Station  might  be  sick,  insisted  upon 
driving  round  to  the  two  bungalows  and 
unearthing  the  population. 

"  Sitting  in  the  twilight !  "  said  he,  with 
great  indignation,  to  the  Boultes.  "  That'll 
never  do!  Hang  it  all,  we're  one 
family  here!  You  must  come  out,  and  so 
must  Kurrell.  I'll  make  him  bring  his 
banjo." 

So  great  is  the  power  of  honest  simplicity 
and  a  good  digestion  over  guilty  con- 
sciences that  all  Kashima  did  turn  out, 
even  down  to  the  banjo;  and  the  Major 
embraced  the  company  in  one  expansive 
grin.  As  he  grinned,  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
raised  her  eyes  for  an  instant  and  looked 
at  Kashima.  Her  meaning  was  clear. 
Major  Vansuythen  would  never  know 
anything.  He  was  to  be  the  outsider  in 
that  happy  family  whose  cage  was  the 
Dosehri  hills. 


A  Wayside  Comedy         69 

"  You're  singing  villainously  out  of 
tune,  Kurrell,"  said  the  ]\Iajor,  truthfully. 
**  Pass  me  that  banjo." 

And  he  sung  in  excruciating-wise  till  the 
stars  came  out  and  Kashima  went  to 
dinner. 


That  was  the  beginning  of  the  New  Life 
of  Kashima  —  the  life  that  Mrs.  Boulte 
made  when  her  tongue  was  loosened  in  the 
twilight. 

^drs.  Vansuythen  has  never  told  the 
Major;  and  since  he  insists  upon  the  main- 
tenance of  a  burdensome  geniality,  she  has 
been  compelled  to  break  her  vow  of  not 
speaking  to  Kurrell.  This  speech,  which 
must  of  necessity  preserve  the  semblance  of 
politeness  and  interest,  serves  admirably  to 
keep  alight  the  flame  of  jealousy  and  dull 
hatred  in  Boulte's  bosom,  as  it  awakens  the 
same  passions  in  his  wife's  heart.  Mrs. 
Boulte  hates  Mrs.  Vansuythen  because  she 
has  taken  Ted  from  her,  and  in  some  curi- 
ous fashion, hates  her  because  Mrs.  Vansuy- 
then— and  here  the  wife's  eyes  see  far  more 
clearly  than  the  husband's  —  detests  Ted. 
And  Ted  —  that  gallant  captain  and  honor- 
able man  —  knows  now  that  it  is  possible 
to  hate  a  woman  once  loved,  even  to  the 
verge  of  wishing  to  silence  her  forever 
with  blows.     Above  all,  is  he  shocked  that 


70  Under  the  Deodars 

Mrs.  Boultc  can  not  see  the  error  of  her 
ways. 

Boulte  and  he  go  out  tiger-shooting 
together  in  amity  and  all  good-friendship. 
Boulte  has  put  their  relationship  on  a  most 
satisfactory  footing. 

"  You're  a  blackguard,"  he  says  to 
Kurrell,  "  and  I've  lost  any  self-respect  I 
may  ever  have  had;  but  when  you're  with 
me,  I  can  feel  certain  that  you  are  not  with 
Airs.  Vansuvthen,  or  making  Emma  miser- 
able." 

Kurrell  endures  anything  that  Boulte 
may  say  to  him.  Sometimes  they  are  away 
ior  three  days  together,  and  then  the  Alajor 
insists  upon  his  wife  going  over  to  sit  with 
Mrs.  Boulte;  although  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
has  repeatedly  avowed  that  she  prefers  her 
husband's  company  to  any  in  the  world. 
From  the  way  in  which  she  clings  to  him, 
she  would  certainly  appear  to  be  speaking 
the  truth. 

But,  of  course,  as  the  Alajor  says,  "  in  a 
little  Station  we  must  all  be  friendly." 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 


What  rendered  vain  their  deep  desire  ? 
A  God,  a  God  their  severance  ruled, 
And  bade  between  their  shores  to  be 
The  unplumbed,  salt,  estranging  sea. 

—M.  Arnold. 

He. —  Tell  your  jhampanis  not  to  hurry 
so,  dear.  Thev  forget  I'm  fresh  from  the 
Plains." 

She. —  Sure  proof  that  /  have  not  been 
going  out  with  any  one.  Yes,  they  are  an 
untrained  crew.     Where  do  we  go? 

He. —  As  usual  —  to  the  world's  end. 
No,  Jakko. 

She. —  Have  your  pony  led  after  you, 
then.     It's  a  long  round. 

He. —  And  for  the  last  time,  thank 
Heaven! 

She. —  Do  you  mean  that  still?  I  didn't 
dare  to  write  to  you  about  jt  *  *  * 
all  these  months. 

He. —  Mean  it!  I've  been  shaping  my 
affairs  to  that  end  since  Autumn.  What 
makes  you  speak  as  though  it  had  occurred 
to  you  for  the  first  tim.e? 

71 


72  Under  the  Deodars 

She. —  I?  Oh!  I  don't  know.  IVe  had 
long  enough  to  think,  too. 

He. —  And  you've  changed  your  mind? 

She. —  No.  You  ought  to  know  that  I 
am  a  miracle  of  constancy.  What  are 
your  —  arrangements? 

He. —  Ours,  Sweetheart,  please. 

She. —  Ours,  be  it  then.  My  poor  boy, 
how  the  prickly  heat  has  marked  your 
forehead!  Have  you  ever  tried  sulphate 
of  copper  in  water? 

He. —  It'll  go  away  in  a  day  or  two  up 
here.  The  arrangements  are  simple 
enough.  Tonga  in  the  early  morning — ■ 
reach  Kalka  at  twelve  —  Umballa  at 
seven  —  down,  straight  by  night-train,  to 
Bombay,  and  then  the  steamer  of  the  21st 
for  Rome.  That's  my  idea.  The  Conti- 
nent and  Sweden  —  a  ten-week  honey- 
moon. 

She. —  Ssh!  Don't  talk  of  it  in  that 
way.  It  makes  me  afraid.  Guy,  how  long 
have  we  two  been  insane? 

He. —  Seven  months  and  fourteen  days; 
I  forget  the  odd  hours  exactlv,  but  I'll 
think. 

She. —  I  only  wanted  to  see  if  you 
remembered.  Who  are  those  two  on  the 
Blessington  Road? 

He. —  Eabrey  and  the  Penner  woman. 
What    do    they    matter   to    usf    Tell    me 


The  Hill  of  Illusion         73 

everything  that  you've  been  doing  and 
saying  and  thinking. 

She. —  Doing  Httle,  saying  less,  and 
thinking  a  great  deal.  I've  hardly  been 
out  at  all. 

He. —  That  was  wrong  of  you.  You 
haven't  been  moping? 

She. —  Not  very  much.  Can  you  won- 
der that  Tm  disinclined  for  amusement? 

He. —  Frankly,  I  do.  Where  was  the 
difficulty? 

She. —  In  this  only.  The  more  people 
I  know  and  the  more  I'm  known  here,  the 
wider  spread  will  be  the  news  of  the  crash 
when  it  comes.     I  don't  like  that. 

He. —  Nonsense.     We  shall  be  out  of  it. 

She. —  You  think  so? 

He. —  I'm  sure  of  it,  if  there  is  any  power 
in  steam  or  horse-flesh  to  carrv  us  awav. 
Ha!  ha! 

She. —  And  the  fun  of  the  situation 
comes  in  —  where,  my  Lancelot? 

He. —  Nowhere,  Guinevere.  I  was  only 
thinking  of  something. 

She. —  They  say  men  have  a  keener 
sense  of  humor  than  women.  Now  /  was 
thinking  of  the  scandal. 

He. —  Don't  think  of  anything  so  ugly. 
We  shall  be  beyond  it. 

She. —  It  will  be  there  all  the  same  —  in 
the  mouths  of  Simla — telegraphed  over 
India,  and  talked  of  at  the  dinners  —  and 


74  Under  the  Deodars 

when  He  goes  out  they  will  stare  at  Him 
to  see  how  He  takes  it.  And  we  shall  be 
dead,  Guy  dear  —  dead  and  cast  into  the 
outer  darkness  where  there  is  — 

He. —  Love  at  least.     Isn't  that  enough? 

She. —  I  have  said  so. 

He. —  And  you  think  so  still? 

She. —  What  do  you  think? 

He. —  What  have  I  done?  It  means 
equal  ruin  to  me,  as  the  world  reckons  it  — - 
outcasting,  the  loss  of  my  appointment, 
the  breaking  off  of  my  life's  work.  I  pay 
my  price. 

She, —  And  are  you  so  much  above  the 
w^orld  that  vou  can  afford  to  pay  it? 
Am  I? 

He. —  My  Divinity  —  what  else? 

She. —  A  very  ordinary  woman,  I'm 
afraid,  but,  so  far,  respectable.  How  do 
you  do,  I\Irs.  Middleditch?  Your  hus- 
band? I  think  he's  riding  down  to  Annan- 
dale  with  Colonel  Statters.  Yes,  isn't  it 
divine  after  the  rain?  *  *  *  Guy,  how 
long  am  I  to  be  allowed  to  bow  to  Mrs. 
Middleditch?     Till  the  17th? 

He. —  Frowsy  Scotch  woman!  What  is 
the  use  of  bringing  her  into  the  discussion? 
You  were  saying? 

She. —  Nothing.  Have  you  ever  seen  a 
man  hanged? 

He. —  Yes.     Once. 

She. —  \Vhat  was  it  for? 


The  Hill  of  Illucion         j^ 

He. —  Murder,  of  course. 

She. —  Murder!  Is  that  so  great  a  sin 
after  all?  I  wonder  how  he  felt  before  the 
drop  fell? 

He. —  I  don't  think  he  felt  much. 
What  a  gruesome  little  woman  it  is  this 
evening!  You're  shivering.  Put  on  your 
cape,  dear. 

She. —  I  think  I  will.  Oh!  look  at  the 
mist  coming  over  Sanjaoli;  and  I  thought 
we  should  have  sunshine  on  the  Ladies' 
Mile!     Let's  turn  back. 

He. —  What's  the  good?  There's  a 
cloud  on  Elysium  Hill,  and  that  means  it's 
foggy  all  down  the  Mall.  We'll  go  on. 
It'll  blow  aw^ay  before  we  get  to  the  Con- 
vent, perhaps.     Jove!     It  is  chilly. 

She. —  You  feel  it,  fresh  from  below. 
Put  on  your  ulster.  What  do  you  think  of 
my  cape? 

He. —  Never  ask  a  man  his  opinion  of  a 
woman's  dress  when  he  is  desperately  and 
abjectly  in  love  with  the  wearer.  Let  me 
look.  Like  everything  else  of  yours,  it's 
perfect.     Where  did  you  get  it  from? 

She. —  He  gave  it  me,  on  Wednes- 
day *  *  *  Qyj-  wedding-day,  you 
know. 

He. —  The  deuce  He  did!  He's  grow- 
ing generous  in  his  old  age.  D'you  like 
all  that  frilly,  bunchy  stuff  at  the  throat? 
I  don't. 


76  Under  the  Deodars 

She. —  Don't  you? 

*'  Kind  Sir,  o'  your  courtesy, 
As  you  go  by  the  town.  Sir, 
Pray  you  o'  your  love  for  me, 
Buy  me  a  russet  gown,  Sir." 

He. —  I  won't  say:  "Keek  into  the 
draw-well,  Janet,  Janet."  Only  wait  a 
little,  darling,  and  you  shall  be  stocked  with 
russet  gowns  and  everything  else. 

She. —  And  when  the  frocks  wear  out, 
you'll  get  me  new  ones  *  *  *  and 
everything  else? 

He. —  Assuredly. 

She. —  I  wonder! 

He. —  Look  here.  Sweetheart,  I  didn't 
spend  two  days  and  two  nights  in  the  train 
to  hear  you  wonder.  I  thought  we'd  set- 
tled all  that  at  Shaifazehat. 

She  (dreamily). —  At  Shaifazehat?  Does 
the  Station  go  on  still.  That  was  ages  and 
ages  ago.  It  must  be  crumbling  to  pieces. 
All  except  the  Amirtollah  kutcha  road.  I 
don't  believe  that  could  crumble  till  the 
Day  of  Judgment. 

He.— 'You  think  so?  What  is  the  mood 
now? 

She. —  I  can't  tell.  How  cold  it  isl 
Let  us  get  on  quickly. 

He. —  Better  walk  a  little.  Stop  your 
jhampanis  and  get  out.  \\'hat's  the  mat- 
ter with  you  this  evening,  dear? 


The  Hill  of  Illusion         yj 

She. —  Nothing.  You  must  grow  accus- 
tomed to  my  ways.  If  I'm  boring  you  I 
can  go  home.  Here's  Captain  Congleton 
coming;  I  dare  say  he'll  be  willing  to  escort 
me. 

He. —  Goose!  Between  us,  too!  Damn 
Captain  Congleton.     There! 

She. —  Chivalrous  Knight!  Is  it  your 
habit  to  swear  much  in  talking?  It  jars  a 
little,  and  you  might  swear  at  me. 

He. — My  angel!  I  didn't  know  what  I 
was  saying;  and  you  changed  so  quickly 
that  I  couldn't  follow.  I'll  apologize  in 
dust  and  ashes. 

She. —  Spare  those.  There'll  be  enough 
of  them  later  on.  Good-night,  Captain 
Congleton.  Going  to  the  singing-quadrilles 
already?  What  dances  am  I  giving  you 
next  week?  Xo!  You  must  have  written 
them  down  wrong.  Five  and  Seven,  / 
said.  If  you've  made  a  mistake,  I  certainly 
don't  intend  to  suffer  for  it.  You  must 
alter  your  programme. 

He. —  I  thought  you  told  me  that  you 
had  not  been  going  out  much  this  season? 

She. — Quite  true,  but  when  I  do  I  dance 
with  Captain  Congleton.  He  dances  very 
nicely. 

He. —  And  sit  out  with  him,  I  suppose? 

She. —  Yes.  Have  you  any  objec- 
tion? Shall  I  stand  under  the  chandelier 
in  future? 


78  Under  the  Deodars 

He. —  What  does  he  talk  to  you  about? 

She. —  What  do  men  talk  about  when 
thev  sit  out? 

He.— Ugh!  Don't!  Well,  now  I'm  up. 
You  must  dispense  with  the  fascinating 
Ccngleton  for  awhile.     I  don't  like  him. 

She  {after  a  pause). —  Do  you  know 
what  you  have  said? 

He. —  Can't  say  that  I  do,  exactly.  I'm 
not  in  the  best  of  tempers. 

She. —  So  I  see  *  *  *  and  feel. 
My  true  and  faithful  lover,  where  is  your 
"  eternal  constancy,"  "  unalterable  trust," 
and  "reverent  devotion?"  I  remember 
those  phrases;  you  seem  to  have  forgotten 
them.     I  mention  a  man's  name  — 

He. —  A  good  deal  more  than  that. 

She. —  Well,  speak  to  him  about  a 
dance  —  perhaps  the  last  dance  that  I  shall 
ever  dance  in  my  life  before  I  *  *  * 
before  I  go  away;  and  you  at  once  distrust 
and  insult  me. 

He. —  I  never  said  a  word. 

She. —  How  much  did  you  imply?  Guy, 
is  this  amount  of  confidence  to  be  our  stock 
to  start  the  new  life  on? 

He. —  No,  of  course  not.  I  didn't 
mean  that.  On  my  word  and  honor,  I 
didn't.  Let  it  pass,  dear.  Please  let  it 
pass. 

She. —  This  once  —  yes  —  and  a  second 
time,  and  again  and  again,  all  through  the 


The  Hill  of  Illusion         79 

years  when  I  shall  be  unable  to  resent  it. 
You  want  too  much,  my  Lancelot, 
and     *     *     *     you  know  too  much. 

He. —  How  do  you  mean? 

She. —  That  is  a  part  of  the  punishment. 
There  can  not  be  perfect  trust  between  us. 

He. —  In  Heaven's  name,  why  not? 

She. —  Hush!  The  Other  Place  is  quite 
enough.     Ask  yourself. 

He. —  I  don't  follow. 

She. —  You  trust  me  so  implicitly  that 
when  I  look  at  another  man  *  *  * 
Never  mind.  Guy,  have  you  ever  made 
love  to  a  girl  —  a  good  girl  ? 

He. —  Somicthing  of  the  sort.  Centuries 
ago  —  in  the  Dark  Ages,  before  I  ever  met 
you,  dear. 

She. —  Tell  me  what  you  said  to  her. 

He. —  What  does  a  man  say  to  a  girl? 
I've  forgotten. 

She. —  /  remember.  He  tells  her  that 
he  trusts  her  and  worships  the  ground  she 
walks  on,  and  that  he'll  love  and  honor  and 
protect  her  till  her  dying  day;  and  so  she 
marries  in  that  belief.  At  least,  I  speak  of 
one  girl  who  was  not  protected. 

He.— Well,  and  then? 

She. —  And  then,  Guy,  and  then,  that 
girl  needs  ten  times  the  love  and  trust  and 
honor  —  yes,  honor  —  that  was  enough 
when  she  was  only  a  mere  wife  if  —  if  — 
the  second  life  she  elects  to  lead  is  to  be 


8o  Under  the  Deodars 

made  even  bearable.     Do  you  understand? 

He. —  Even  bearable!     It'll  be  Paradise. 

She. —  Ah!  Can  you  give  me  all  I've 
asked  for  —  not  now,  nor  a  few  months 
later,  but  when  you  begin  to  think  of  what 
you  might  have  done  if  you  had  kept  your 
own  appointment  and  your  caste  here  — 
when  you  begin  to  look  upon  me  as  a  drag 
and  a  burden?  I  shall  want  it  most  then, 
Guy,  for  there  will  be  no  one  in  the  wide 
world  but  you. 

He. —  You're  a  little  overtired  to-night, 
Sweetheart,  and  you're  taking  a  stage  view 
of  the  situation.  After  the  necessary  busi- 
ness in  the  Courts,  the  road  is  clear  to  — 

She. — '*  The  holy  state  of  matrimony!" 
Ha!  ha!  ha! 

He. —  Ssh!  Don't  laugh  in  that  horrible 
way! 

She. —  I  —  I  c-c-c-can't  help  it!  Isn't 
it  too  absurd!  Ah!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Guy, 
stop  me  quick,  or  I  shall  —  1-1-laugh  till 
we  get  to  the  Church. 

He. —  For  goodness'  sake,  stop!  Don't 
make  an  exhibition  of  yourself.  What  is 
the  matter  with  you? 

She. —  N-nothing.     I'm  better  now. 

He. —  That's  all  right.  One  moment, 
dear.  There's  a  little  whisp  of  hair  got 
loose  from  behind  your  right  ear,  and  it's 
straggling  over  your  cheek.     So! 


The  Hill  of  Illusion         8 1 

She. —  Thank'oo.  I'm  'fraid  my  hat's 
on  one  side,  too. 

He. —  What  do  you  wear  these  huge 
dagger  bonnet-skewers  for?  They're  big 
enough  to  kill  a  man  with. 

She. —  Oh!  Don't  kill  me,  though. 
You're  sticking  it  into  my  head!  Let  me 
do  it.     You  men  are  so  clumsy. 

He. —  Have  you  had  many  opportuni- 
ties of  comparing  us  —  in  this  sort  of 
work  ? 

She. —  Guy,  what  is  mv  name? 

He.— Eh!     I  don't  follow. 

She. —  Here's  my  card-case.  Can  you 
read? 

He.— Yes.     Well? 

She. —  Well,  that  answers  your  question. 
You  know  the  other  man's  name.  Am  I 
sufficiently  humbled,  or  would  you  like  to 
ask  me  if  there  is  any  one  else? 

He. —  I  see  now.  My  darling,  I  never 
meant  that  for  an  instant.  I  was  only  jok- 
ing. There !  Lucky  there's  no  one  on  the 
road.     They'd  be  scandalized. 

She. —  They'll  be  more  scandalized 
before  the  end. 

He. —  Do-on't.  I  don't  like  you  to  talk 
in  that  way. 

She. —  Unreasonable  man!  Who  asked 
me  to  face  the  situation  and  accept  it? 
Tell  me,  do  I  look  like  Mrs.  Penner?  Do 
I  look  like  a  naughty  woman?     Szi'car  I 


82  Under  the  Deodars 

don't!  Give  me  your  word  of  honor,  my 
Jwnorable  friend,  that  I'm  not  Hke  Mrs.  Buz- 
gago.  That's  the  way  she  stands,  with  her 
hands  clasped  at  the  back  of  her  head. 
D'you  Hke  that? 

He. —  Don't  be  affected. 

She. —  I'm  not.  I'm  Mrs.  Buzgago. 
Listen! 

*'  Pendant  une  anne'  toute  entiere, 
Le  regiment  n'a  pas  r'paru. 
Au  Ministere  de  la  Guerre 
On  le  r'porta  comme  perdu. 

^*  On  se  r'noncait  a  r'trouver  sa  trace, 
Quand  un  matin  subitement. 
On  ]e  vit  r'paraitre  sur  la  place 
L'Colonel  tou jours  en  avant." 

That's  the  way  she  rolls  her  r's.  Am  I  like 
her? 

He. —  No;  but  I  object  when  you  go  on 
like  an  actress  and  sing  stuff  of  that  kind. 
Where  in  the  world  did  you  pick  up  the 
Chanson  du  Colonel?  It  isn't  a  drawing- 
room  song.     It  isn't  proper. 

She. —  Mrs.  Buzgago  taught  it  me.  Slie 
is  both  drawing-room  and  proper  and  in 
another  month  she'll  shut  her  drawing- 
room  to  me,  and,  thank  God,  she  isn't  as 
improper  as  I  am.  Oh,  Guy,  Guy!  I 
wish  I  was  like  some  women,  and  had  no 
scruples  about  —  what  is  it  Keene  says?  — 
"Wearing  a  corpse's  hair,  and  being  false 
to  the  bread  they  eat." 


The  Hill  of  Illusion         83 

He. —  I  am  only  a  man  of  limited  intelli- 
gence, and  just  now,  very  bewildered. 
When  you  have  quite  finished  flashing 
through  all  your  moods,  tell  me,  and  I'll 
try  to  understand  the  last  one. 

She. —  Moods,  Guy!  I  haven't  any. 
I'm  sixteen  years  old,  and  you're  just 
twenty,  and  you've  been  waiting  for  two 
hours  outside  the  school  in  the  cold.  And 
now  I've  met  you,  and  now  we're  walking 
home  together.  Does  that  suit  you,  'My 
Imperial  Majesty? 

He. —  No.  \Ve  aren't  children.  Why 
can't  you  be  rational? 

She. —  He  asks  me  that  when  I'm  going 
to  commit  social  suicide  for  his  sake,  and, 
^^j,j  ^fc  He  ^  J  (^on't  want  to  be  French 
and  rave  about  "''  ma  mere,''  but  have  I  ever 
told  you  that  I  have  a  mother,  and  a 
brother  who  was  my  pet  before  I  married? 
He's  married  now.  Can't  you  imagine  the 
pleasure  that  the  news  of  the  elopement 
will  give  him?  Have  you  any  people  at 
home,  Guy,  to  be  pleased  with  your 
performances? 

He. —  One  or  two.  We  can't  make 
omelets  without  breaking  eggs. 

She  (sIoiL'Iy). — I  don't  see  the  necessity — ^ 

He. —  Hah!     What  do  you  m.ean? 

She. —  Shall  I  speak  the  truth? 

He. —  Under  the  circumstances,  per- 
haps it  zcould  be  as  well. 


84  Under  the  Deodars 

She. —  Guy,  I'm  afraid. 

He. —  I  thought  we'd  settled  all  that 
What  of? 

She. —  Of  you. 

He.— Oh,  damn  it  all!  The  old  busi- 
ness!    This  is  too  bad! 

She. —  Of  you. 

He. —  And  what  now? 

She. —  What  do  you  think  of  me? 

He. —  Beside  the  question  altogether. 
What  do  you  intend  to  do? 

She. —  i  daren't  risk  it.  I'm  afraid.  If 
I  could  only  cheat     ^     ^     ^ 

He. —  A  la  Buzgago?  No,  thanks, 
That's  the  one  point  on  which  I  have  any 
notion  of  Honor.  I  won't  eat  his  salt  and 
steal  too.     I'll  loot  openly  or  not  at  all. 

She. —  I  never  meant  anything  else. 

He. —  Then,  why  in  the  world  do  you 
pretend  not  to  be  willing  to  come? 

She. —  It's  not  pretense,  Guy.  I  am 
afraid. 

He. —  Please  explain. 

She. —  It  can't  last,  Guy.  It  can't  last. 
You'll  get  angry,  and  then  you'll  swear, 
and  then  you'll  get  jealous,  and  then  you'll 
mistrust  me  —  you  do  now  —  and  you 
yourself  will  be  the  best  reason  for  doubt- 
ing. And  I  —  what  shall  /do?  I  shall 
be  no  better  than  !Mrs.  Buzgago  found 
out  —  no  better  than  any  one.  And  you'lJ 
kfiow  that.     Oh,  Guy,  can't  you  seef 


The  Hill  of  Illusion         85 

He. —  I  see  that  you  are  desperately 
unreasonable,  little  woman. 

She. —  There!  The  moment  I  begin  to 
object,  you  get  angry.  What  will  you  do 
when  I  am  only  your  property  —  stolen 
property?  It  can't  be,  Guy —  It  can't 
be!  I  thought  it  could,  but  it  cant. 
You'll  get  tired  of  me. 

He. —  I  tell  you  I  shall  not.  Won't  any- 
thing make  you  understand  that? 

She. —  There,  can't  you  see?  If  you 
speak  to  me  like  that  now,  you'll  call  me 
horrible  names  later,  if  I  don't  do  every- 
thing as  you  like.  And  if  you  were  cruel 
to  me,  Guy,  where  should  I  go  —  where 
should  I  go?     I  can't  trust  you! 

He. —  I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  that  I 
can  trust  you.     I've  ample  reason. 

She. —  Please  don't,  dear.  It  hurts  as 
much  as  if  you  hit  me. 

He. —  It  isn't  exactly  pleasant  for  me. 

She. —  I  can't  help  it.  I  wish  I  were 
dead!  I  can't  trust  you,  and  I  don't  trust 
myself.  Oh,  Guy,  let  it  die  away  and  be 
forgotten ! 

He. —  Too  late  now.  I  don't  under- 
stand you  —  I  won't  —  and  I  can't  trust 
myself  to  talk  this  evening.  May  I  call 
to-morrow? 

She. —  Yes.  A'o!  Oh,  give  me  time! 
The  day  after.  I  get  into  my  'rickshaw 
here  and  meet  Him  at  Peliti's.     You  ride. 


86  Under  the  Deodars 

He. —  I'll  go  on  to  Peliti's,  too.  I  think 
I  want  a  drink.  My  world's  knocked 
about  my  ears,  and  the  stars  are  falling. 
Who  are  those  brutes  howling  in  the  Old 
Library? 

She. —  They're  rehearsing  the  singing- 
quadrilles  for  the  Fancy  Ball.  Can't  you 
hear  Mrs.  Buzgago's  voice?  She  has  a 
solo.     It's  quite  a  new  idea.     Listen! 

Mrs.  Buzgago  (in  the  Old  Library,  con* 
tnolL  exp.). 

"  See-saw!  Margery  Daw! 
Sold  her  bed  to  lie  upon  straw. 
Wasn't  she  a  silly  slut 
To  sell  her  bed  and  lie  upon  dirt?  ** 

Captain  Congleton,  I'm  going  to  alter  that 
to  "  flirt."     It  sounds  better. 

He. —  No,  I've  changed  my  mind  about 
the  drink  Good-night,  little  lady.  I  shall 
see  you  to-morrow. 

She. —  Ye-es.  Good-night,  Guy.  Dont 
be  angry  with  me. 

He.— Angry!  You  know  I  trust  you 
absolutely.  Good-night,  and  —  God  bless 
you! 

{Three  seconds  later.  Solus.)  H'ml 
I'd  give  something  to  discover  whether 
there's  another  man  at  the  back  of  all  this. 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 


Estfuga,  volvitur  rota. 

On  we  drift:  where  looms  the  dim  port? 
One  Two  Three  Four  Five  contribute  their  quotas 
Something  is  gained  if  one  caught  but  the  im* 
port. 
Show  it  us,  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha. 

— blaster  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha^ 

"Dressed!  Don't  tell  me  that  woman 
ever  dressed  in  her  life.  She  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  while  her  ayah  —  no, 
her  husbcind  —  it  must  have  been  a  man  — 
threw  her  clothes  at  her.  She  then  did  her 
hair  with  her  fingers,  and  rubbed  her 
bonnet  in  the  flue  under  the  bed.  I  know 
she  did,  as  well  as  if  I  had  assisted  at  the 
orgv.    Who  is  she?"  said  ]\Irs.  Hauksbee. 

"Don't!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  feebly. 
"  You  make  my  head  ache.  I'm  miserable 
to-day.  Stay  me  with  fondants,  comfort  me 
with  chocolates,  for  I  am  .  .  .  Did  you 
bring  anything  from  Peliti's?  " 

"  Questions  to  begin  with.  You  shall 
have  the  sweets  when  you  have  answered 
them.  Who  and  what  is  the  creature.'' 
87 


88  Under  the  Deodars 

There  were  at  least  half  a  dozen  men  round 
her,  and  she  appeared  to  be  going  to  sleep 
in  their  midst. 

"  Delville,"  said  ^Irs.  Mallowe,  "  '  Shady  ' 
Delville,  to  distinguish  her  from  Mrs.  Jim 
of  that  ilk.  She  dances  as  untidily  as  she 
dresses,  I  believe,  and  her  husband  is 
somewhere  in  ^Madras.  Go  and  call,  if  you 
are  so  interested." 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  Shigramitish 
women?  She  merely  caught  my  attention 
for  a  minute,  and  I  wondered  at  the  attrac- 
tion that  a  dowd  has  for  a  certain  type  of 
man.  I  expected  to  see  her  walk  out  of  her 
clothes  —  until  I  looked  at  her  eyes." 

''  Hooks  and  eyes,  surely,"  drawled  Mrs. 
Mallowe. 

'*  Don't  be  clever,  Polly.  You  make  my 
head  ache.  x\nd  round  this  hayrick  stood 
a  crowd  of  men  —  a  positive  crowd!  " 

"  Perhaps  they  also  expected  — " 

"  Polly,  don't  be  Rabelaisian!  " 

Mrs.  Alarlowe  curled  herself  up  comfort- 
ably on  the  sofa,  and  turned  her  attention 
to  the  sweets.  She  and  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
shared  the  same  house  at  Simla;  and  these 
things  befell  two  seasons  after  the  matter 
of  Otis  Yeere,  which  has  been  already 
recorded. 

IVIrs.  Hauksbee  stepped  into  the  veranda 
and  looked  down  upon  the  Mall,  her  fore- 
head puckered  with  thought. 


A  Second- Rate  Woman      89 

"Hah!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  shortlyc 
**  Indeed!" 

''What  is  it?"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
sleepily. 

"  That  dowd  and  The  Dancing  Master  — 
to  whom  I  object." 

"  Why  to  The  Dancing  Master?  He  is 
a  middle-aged  gentleman,  of  reprobate  and 
romantic  tendencies,  and  tries  to  be  a 
friend  of  mine." 

"  Then  make  up  your  mind  to  lose  him. 
Dowds  cling  by  nature,  and  I  should 
imagine  that  this  animal  —  how  terrible 
her  bonnet  looks  from  above! — is  specially 
clingsome." 

"  She  is  welcome  to  The  Dancing  Master 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  never  could 
take  an  interest  in  a  monotonous  liar.  The 
frustrated  aim  of  his  life  is  to  persuade 
people  that  he  is  a  bachelor. 

"O-oh!  I  think  I've  met  that  sort  of 
man  before.     And  isn't  he?" 

*'  No.  He  confided  that  to  me  a  few 
davs  ago.  Ugh!  Some  men  ought  to 
be' killed." 

"  W^hat  happened  then?  " 

"  He  posed  as  the  horror  of  horrors  —  a 
misunderstood  man.  Heaven  knows  the 
femme  incomprise  is  sad  enough  and  bad 
enough — but  the  other  thing!  " 

"  And  so  fat,  too !    /  should  have  laughed 


90  Under  the  Deodars 

in  his  face.  Men  seldom  confide  in  me. 
How  is  it  they  come  to  you?  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  impressing  me  with 
their  careers  in  the  past.  Protect  me  from 
men  with  confidences!  " 

"  And  yet  you  encourage  them  ?  " 

"What  can  I  do?  They  talk,  I  listen, 
and  they  vow  that  I  am  sympathetic.  I 
know  I  always  profess  astonishment  even 
when  the  plot  is  —  of  the  most  old 
possible." 

*'  Yes.  Men  are  so  unblushingly  explicit 
if  they  are  once  allowed  to  talk,  whereas 
women's  confidences  are  full  of  reserva- 
tions and  fibs,  except — " 

"  When  they  go  mad  and  babble  of  the 
Unutterabilities  after  a  week's  acquain- 
tance. Even  then,  they  always  paint 
themselves  d  la  Mrs.  Gummidge  —  throw- 
ing cold  water  on  hiiii.  Really,  if  you 
come  to  consider,  we  know  a  great  deal 
more  of  men  than  of  our  own  sex." 

"And  the  extraordinary  thing  is  that 
men  will  never  believe  it.  They  say  we  are 
trying  to  hide  something." 

"  They  are  generally  doing  that  on  their 
own  account  —  and  very  clumsily  they 
hide.  Alas!  These  chocolates  pall  upon 
me,  and  I  haven't  eaten  more  than  a  dozen. 
I  think  I  shall  go  to  sleep." 

"Then  you'll  get  fat,  dear.     If  you  took 


A  Second-Rate  Woman      91 

more    exercise    and    a    more    intelligent 
interest  in  your  neighbors,  you  would  — " 

"  Be  as  universally  loved  as  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee.  You're  a  darling  in  many  ways, 
and  I  like  you  —  you  are  not  a  woman's 
woman  —  but  zuhy  do  you  trouble  yourself 
about  mere  human  beings?  " 

"  Because,  in  the  absence  of  angels,  who, 
I  am  sure,  would  be  horribly  dull,  men  and 
women  are  the  most  fascinating  things  in 
the  whole  wide  world,  lazy  one.  I  am 
interested  in  The  Dowd  —  I  am  interested 
in  The  Dancing  Master  —  I  am  interested 
in  the  Hawley  Boy  —  and  I  am  interested 
in  you." 

"  Why  couple  me  with  the  Hawley  Boy? 
He  is  your  property." 

"  Yes,  and  in  his  own  guileless  speech, 
I'm  making  a  good  thing  out  of  him. 
When  he  is  slightly  more  reformed,  and  has 
passed  his  Higher  Standard,  or  whatever 
the  authorities  think  fit  to  exact  from  him,  I 
shall  select  a  pretty  little  girl,  the  Holt  girl, 
I  think,  and  " —  here  she  waved  her  hands 
airily — '''whom  Mrs.  Hauksbee  hath 
joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder/ 
That's  all." 

"  And  when  you  have  yoked  May  Holt 
with  the  most  notorious  detrimental  in 
Simla,  and  earned  the  undying  hatred  of 
Mamma  Holt,  what  will  you  do  with  me- 


92  Under  the  Deodars 

Dispenser  of  the  Destinies  of  the  Uni- 
verse?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  dropped  into  a  low  chair 
in  front  of  the  fire,  and,  chin  in  hand,  gazed 
long  and  steadfastly  at  Airs.  Mallowe. 

''  I  do  not  know/'  she  said,  shaking  her 
head,  "  what  I  shall  do  with  you,  dear.  It's 
obviously  impossible  to  marry  you  to  some 
one  else  —  your  husband  would  object,  and 
the  experiment  might  not  be  successful 
after  all.  I  think  I  shall  begin  by  prevent- 
ing you  from  —  what  is  it? — 'sleeping  on 
ale-house  benches  and  snoring  in  the  sun.' " 

"  Don't.  I  don't  like  your  quotations. 
They  are  so  rude.  Go  to  the  Library  and 
bring  me  new  books." 

"While  you  sleep?  A^o!  If  you  don't 
come  with  me,  I  shall  spread  your  newest 
frock  on  my  'rickshaw-bow,  and  when  any 
one  asks  me  what  I  am  doing,  I  shall  say 
that  I  am  going  to  Phelps's  to  get  it  let  out. 
I  shall  take  care  that  Mrs.  McNamara  sees 
me.  Put  your  things  on,  there's  a  good 
girl." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  groaned  and  obeyed,  and 
the  two  went  oft  to  the  Library,  where  they 
found  Airs.  Delville  and  the  man  who  went 
by  the  nickname  of  The  Dancing  Master. 
By  that  time  Mrs.  Mallowe  was  awake  and 
eloquent. 

"That    is    the    Creature!"    said    Airs. 


A  Second-Rate  Woman      93 

Hauksbee,  with  the  air  of  one  pointing  out 
a  slug  in  the  road. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "  The  man 
is  the  creature.  Ugh !  Good-evening,  Mr. 
Bent.  I  thought  you  were  coming  to  tea 
this  evening." 

''  Surely  it  was  for  to-morrow,  was  it 
not?"  answered  The  Dancing  ■Master.  "  I 
understood  ...  I  fancied  .  .  .  I'm 
so  sorrv.  .  .  .  How  very  unfortu- 
nate!   .  '.    ." 

But  Mrs.  Alallowe  had  passed  on. 

"  For  the  practiced  equivocator  you  said 
he  was,"  murmured  Airs.  Hauksbee,  "  he 
strikes  me  as  a  failure.  Novv',  wherefore 
should  he  have  preferred  a  walk  with  The 
Dowd  to  tea  w^ith  us?  Elective  affinities,  I 
suppose  —  both  grubby.  Polly,  I'd  never 
forgive  that  woman  as  long  as  the  world 
rolls." 

''  I  forgive  every  w^oman  everything," 
said  Mrs.  Alallowe.  "  He  will  be  a  suffi- 
cient punishment  for  her.  What  a  common 
voice  she  has!  " 

Mrs.  Delville's  voice  was  not  pretty,  her 
carriage  was  even  less  lovely,  and  her  rai- 
ment was  strikingly  neglected.  All  these 
facts  Airs.  Alallowe  absorbed  over  the  top 
of  a  magazine. 

"  Now,  zvhat  is  there  in  her? "  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee.  "  Do  you  see  what  I  meant 
about  the  clothes  falling  off?     If  I  were  a 


94  Under  the  Deodars 

man  I  would  perish  sooner  than  be  seen 
with  that  rag-bag.  And  yet,  she  has  good 
eyes,  but  —  oh!  " 

"What  is  it?" 

"She  doesn't  know  how  to  use  them! 
On  my  Honor,  she  does  not.  Look!  Oh, 
look!  Untidiness  I  can  endure,  but  ignor- 
ance never!     The  woman's  a  fool." 

"H'sh!     She'll  hear  you." 

"  All  the  women  in  Simla  are  fools. 
She'll  think  I  mean  some  one  else.  Now 
she's  going  out.  What  a  thoroughly 
objectionable  couple  she  and  The  Dancing 
Master  make!  Which  reminds  me.  Do 
you  suppose  they'll  ever  dance  together?  '* 

"  Wait  and  see.  I  don't  envy  her  con- 
versation of  The  Dancing  Master  —  loathly 
man !  His  wife  ought  to  be  up  here  before 
long?  " 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  him?" 

''  Only  what  he  told  me.  It  may  be  all 
a  fiction.  He  married  a  girl  bred  in  the 
country,  I  think,  and,  being  an  honorable, 
chivalrous  soul,  told  me  that  he  repented 
his  bargain,  and  sent  her  to  her  m.other  as 
often  as  possible  —  a  person  who  has  lived 
in  the  Doon  since  the  memory  of  man,  and 
goes  to  Mussoorie  when  other  people  go 
home.  The  wife  is  with  her  at  present. 
So  he  savs." 

"Babies?" 

"  One  only,  but  he  talks  of  his  wife  in  a 


A  Second-Rate  Woman       95 

revolting  way.  I  hated  him  for  it.  He 
thought  he  was  being  epigrammatic  and 
brilHant." 

''  That  is  a  vice  pecuh'ar  to  men.  I  dis- 
Hke  him  because  he  is  generally  in  the 
wake  of  some  girl,  to  the  disgust  of  the  Eli- 
gibles.  He  will  persecute  May  Holt  no 
more,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken." 

"  No.  I  think  Mrs.  Delville  may  occupy 
his  attention  for  awhile." 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  know^s  that  he  is 
the  head  of  a  family?  " 

''  Not  from  his  lips.  He  swore  to  me 
eternal  secrecy.  Wherefore  I  tell  you» 
Don't  you  know  that  type  of  man?  " 

''  Not  intimately,  thank  goodness !  As 
a  general  rule,  when  a  man  begins  to  abuse 
his  wife  to  me,  I  find  that  the  Lord  gives 
me  vv^herewith  to  answer  him  according  to 
his  folly,  and  we  part  with  a  coolness 
between  us.     I  laugh." 

"  I'm  different.    I've  no  sense  of  humor." 

"  Cultivate  it,  then.  It  has  been  my 
mainstay  for  more  years  than  I  care  to 
think  about.  A  well-educated  sense  of 
Humor  will  save  a  woman  when  Religion, 
Training,  and  Home  influences  fail.  And 
we  may  all  need  salvation  sometimes." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  the  Delville 
woman  has  humor?  " 

"  Her  dress  bewrays  her.  How  can  a 
Thing  who  wears  her  supplement  under  her 


96 


Under  the  Deodars 


left  arm  have  any  notion  of  the  fitness  of 
things  —  much  less  their  folly?  If  she  dis- 
cards The  Dancing  Master  after  having 
once  seen  him  dance,  I  may  respect  her. 
Otherwise  — " 

"  But  are  we  not  both  assuming  a  great 
deal  too  much,  dear?  You  saw  the 
woman  at  Peliti's  —  half  an  hour  later  you 
saw  her  walking  with  The  Dancing  Mas- 
ter —  an  hour  later  you  met  her  here  at 
the  Library." 

"Still  with  The  Dancing  Master,  re- 
member." 

"  Still  with  The  Dancing  Master,  I  ad- 
m.it,  but  why  on  the  strength  of  that  should 
you  imagine  — " 

"  I  imagine  nothing.  I  have  no  imagina- 
tion. I  am  only  convinced  that  The 
Dancing  Master  is  attracted  to  The  Dowd 
because  he  is  objectionable  in  every  wa}^ 
and  she  in  every  other.  If  I  know  the  man 
as  you  have  described  him,  he  holds  his 
wife  in  deadly  subjection  at  present." 

"  She  is  twenty  years  younger  than  he." 

"Poor  wretch!  And,  in  the  end,  after 
he  has  posed  and  swaggered  and  lied  —  he 
has  a  mouth  under  that  ragged  mustache 
simply  made  for  lies  —  he  will  be  rewarded 
according  to  his  merits." 

"  I  wonder  what  those  really  are,"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe. 

But  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  her  face  close  to  the 


A  Second-Rate  Woman      97 

shelf  of  the  new  books,  was  humming 
softly:  "  What  shall  he  have  who  killed  the 
Deer?"  She  was  a  lady  of  unfettered 
speech.  One  month  later,  she  announced 
her  intention  of  calling  upon  Mrs.  Delville. 
Both  Mrs.  Hauksbee  and  Mrs.  Mallowe 
were  in  morning  wrappers,  and  there  was 
great  peace  in  the  land. 

"  I  should  go  as  I  was/'  said  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe. "  It  would  be  a  dehcate  compliment 
to  her  style." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  studied  herself  in  the 
glass. 

"  Assuming  for  a  moment  that  she  ever 
darkened  these  doors,  I  should  put  on  this 
robe,  after  all  the  others,  to  show  her  what 
a  morning-wrapper  ought  to  be.  It  might 
enliven  her.  As  it  is,  I  shall  go  in  the  dove- 
colored —  sweet  emblem  of  youth  and 
innocence  —  and  shall  put  on  my  new 
gloves." 

''  If  you  really  are  going,  dirty  tan  would 
be  too  good ;  and  you  know  that  dove-color 
spots  with  the  rain." 

"  I  care  not.  I  may  make  her  envious. 
At  least  I  shall  try,  though  one  can  not 
expect  very  much  from  a  woman  who  puts 
a  lace  tucker  into  her  habit." 

"  Just  Heavens !  When  did  she  do 
that?" 

"  Yesterday  —  riding  with  The  Dancing 
Master.     I  met  them  at  the  back  of  Jakko, 


98 


Under  the  Deodars 


and  the  rain  had  made  the  lace  lie  down. 
To  complete  the  effect,  she  was  wearing  an 
unclean  terai  with  the  elastic  under  her 
chin.  I  felt  almost  too  well  content  to  take 
the  trouble  to  despise  her." 

"  The  Hawley  Boy  was  riding  with  you. 
V/hat  did  he  think?" 

"  Does  a  boy  ever  notice  these  things? 
Should  I  like  him  if  he  did?  He  stared 
in  the  rudest  way,  and  just  when  I  thought 
he  had  seen  the  elastic,  he  said :  '  There's 
something  very  taking  about  that  face.'  I 
rebuked  him  on  the  spot.  I  don't  approve 
of  boys  being  taken  by  faces." 

"  Other  than  your  own.  I  shouldn't  be 
in  the  least  surprised  if  the  Hawley  Boy 
immediately  went  to  call." 

"  I  forbid  him.  Let  her  be  satisfied 
with  The  Dancing  Master,  and  his  wife 
when  she  comes  up.  I'm  rather  curious  to 
see  Mrs.  Bent  and  the  Delville  woman 
together." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  departed,  and  at  the  end 
of  an  hour  returned  slightly  flushed. 

"  There  is  no  limit  to  the  treachery  of 
youth!  I  ordered  the  Hawley  Boy,  as  he 
valued  my  patronage,  not  to  call.  The 
first  person  I  stumble  over  —  literally 
stumble  over  —  in  her  poky,  dark  little 
drawing-room  is,  of  course,  the  Hawley 
Boy.  She  kept  us  waiting  ten  minutes, 
and  then  emerged  as  though  she  had  been 


A  Second-Rate  Woman       99 

tipped  out  of  the  dirty-clothes-basket. 
You  know  my  way,  dear,  when  I  am  at  all 
put  out.  I  was  Superior,  c-r-r-r-rushingly 
Superior!  'Lifted  my  eyes  to  Heaven,  and 
had  heard  of  nothing — 'dropped  my  eyes 
on  the  carpet,  and  '  really  didn't  know' — 
'played  with  my  card-case  and  '  supposed 
so.'  The  Hawley  Boy  giggled  like  a  girl, 
and  I  had  to  freeze  him  with  scowls 
between  the  sentences." 

"And  she?" 

"  She  sat  in  a  heap  on  the  edge  of  a 
couch,  and  managed  to  convey  the  impres- 
sion that  she  was  suffering  from  stomach 
ache,  at  the  very  least.  It  was  all  I  could 
do  not  to  ask  after  her  symptoms.  When 
I  rose,  she  grunted  just  like  a  buffalo  in  the 
water  —  too  lazy  to  move." 

"  Are  you  certain  — " 

"  Am  I  blind,  Polly?  Laziness,  sheer 
laziness,  nothing  else  —  or  her  garments 
were  only  constructed  for  sitting  down  in. 
I  stayed  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  trying  to 
penetrate  the  gloom,  to  guess  what  her 
surroundings  were  like,  while  she  stuck  out 
her  tongue." 

"Lu  — o'.'" 

"  Well  —  ril  withdraw  the  tongue, 
though  Vm  sure  if  she  didn't  do  it  when  I 
was  in  the  room,  she  did  the  minute  I  was 
outside.  At  any  rate,  she  lay  in  a  lump 
and  grunted.     Ask  the  Hawley  Boy,  dear. 


too         Under  the  Deodars 

I  believe  the  grunts  were  meant  for  sen- 
tences, but  she  spoke  so  indistinctly  that 
I  can't  swear  to  it." 

*'  You  are  incorrigible,  simply." 

"  I  am  7iot!  Treat  me  civilly,  give  me 
peace  with  honor,  don't  put  the  only  avail- 
able seat  facing  the  window,  and  a  child 
may  eat  jam  in  my  lap  before  Church. 
But  I  resent  being  grunted  at.  Wouldn't 
you?  Do  you  suppose  that  she  communi- 
cates her  views  on  life  and  love  to  The 
Dancing  Master  in  a  set  of  modulated 
^Grmphs'?" 

''  You  attach  to  much  importance  to  The 
Dancing  IMaster." 

"  He  came  as  we  went,  and  The  Dowd 
grew  almost  cordial  at  the  sight  of  him. 
He  smiled  greasily,  and  moved  about  that 
darkened  dog-kennel  in  a  suspiciously 
familiar  way." 

"  Don't  be  uncharitable.  Any  sin  but 
that  I'll  forgive." 

''  Listen  to  the  voice  of  History.  I  am 
only  describing  what  I  saw.  He  entered, 
the  heap  on  the  sofa  revived  slightly,  and 
the  Hawley  Boy  and  I  came  av/ay  to- 
gether. He  is  disillusioned,  but  I  felt  it 
my  duty  to  lecture  him  severely  for  going 
there.     And  that's  all." 

"  Now  for  pity's  sake,  leave  the  wretched 
creature  and  The  Dancing  Master  alone. 
They  never  did  you  any  harm." 


A  Second-Rate  Woman    loi 

"  No  harm !  To  dress  as  an  example 
and  a  stumbling-block  for  half  Simla,  and 
then  to  find  this  Person  who  is  dressed  by 
the  hand  of  God  —  not  that  I  wish  to  dis- 
parage Him  for  a  moment,  but  you  know 
the  tikka-dhurzie  way.  He  attires  those 
lilies  of  the  field  —  this  Person  draws  the 
eyes  of  men  —  and  some  of  them  nice  men! 
It's  almost  enough  to  make  one  discard 
clothing.     I  told  the  Hawley  Boy  so." 

"And  what  did  that  sweet  youth  do?'* 

"  Turned  shell-pink  and  looked  across 
the  far  blue  hills  like  a  distressed  cherub. 
Am  I  talking  wildly,  Polly?  Let  me  say 
my  say,  and  I  shall  be  calm.  Otherwise 
I  may  go  abroad  and  disturb  Simla  with 
a  few  original  reflections.  Excepting 
always  your  own  sweet  self,  there  isn't  a 
single  woman  in  the  land  who  understands 
me  when  I  am  —  what's  the  word?" 

•'  Tcte-fclee,''  suggested  Mrs.  Mallowe. 

"Exactly!  And  now  let  us  have  tiffin. 
The  demands  of  Society  are  exhausting, 
and  as  Mrs.  Delville  says  — ''  Here  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  to  the  horror  of  the  khitmat- 
gars,  lapsed  into  a  series  of  grunts,  while 
Mrs.  Mallowe  stared  in  lazy  surprise. 

" '  God  gie  us  a  gude  conceit  of  oor- 
selves,* "  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  piously,  re- 
turning to  her  natural  speech.  "  Now,  in 
any  other  woman  that  would  have  been 
vuiear.     I  am  consumed  with  curiositv  to 


I02         Under  the  Deodars 

see  Mrs.  Bent.     I  expect  complications." 

"  Woman  of  one  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe,  shortly,  "  all  complications  are  as  old 
as  the  hills!  I  have  lived  through  or  near 
all  —  all  —  all!  " 

"  And  yet  do  not  understand  that  men 
and  women  never  behave  twice  alike.  I 
am  old  who  was  young  —  if  ever  I  put  my 
head  in  your  lap,  you  dear,  big  skeptic, 
you  will  learn  that  my  parting  is  gauze  — 
but  never,  no  never,  have  I  lost  my  interest 
in  men  and  women.  Polly,  I  shall  see  this 
business  out  to  the  bitter  end." 

"  I  am  going  to  sleep,"  said  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe,  calmly.  "  I  never  interfere  with  men 
or  women  unless  I  am  compelled,"  and  she 
retired  with  dignity  to  her  own  room. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  curiosity  was  not  long 
left  ungratified,  for  Mrs.  Bent  came  up  to 
Simla  a  few  days  after  the  conversation 
faithfully  reported  above,  and  pervaded  the 
Mall  by  her  husband's  side. 

"Behold!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
thoughtfully  rubbing  her  nose.  ''  That  is 
the  last  link  of  the  chain,  if  we  omit  the 
husband  of  the  Delville,  vvhoever  he  may 
be.  Let  me  consider.  The  Bents  and  the 
Delvilles  inhabit  the  same  hotel;  and  the 
Delville  is  detested  by  the  Waddy  —  do 
you  know  the  Waddy?  —  who  is  almost  as 
big  a  dowd.  The  Waddy  also  abominates 
the    male    Bent,    for    which,    if    her    other 


A  Second-Rate  Woman    103 

sins  do  not  weigh  too  heavih^,  she  will 
eventually  be  caught  up  to  Heaven." 

"  Don't  be  irreverent,"  said  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe.     "  I  like  Mrs.  Bent's  face." 

"  I  am  discussing  the  Waddy,"  returned 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  loftily.  "  The  Waddy  will 
take  the  female  Bent  apart,  after  having 
borrowed  —  yes !  —  everything  that  she 
can,  from  hairpins  to  babies'  bottles. 
Such,  my  dear,  is  life  in  a  hotel.  The 
Waddy  will  tell  the  female  Bent  facts  and 
lictions  about  The  Dancing  Master  and 
The  Dowd." 

"  Lucy,  I  should  like  you  better  if  you 
were  not  always  looking  into  people's  back 
bed-rooms." 

"  Anybody  can  look  into  their  front 
drawing-rooms;  and  remember  whatever  I 
do,  and  whatever  I  look,  I  never  talk  — 
as  the  Waddy  will.  Let  us  hope  that  The 
Dancing  jMaster's  greasy  smile  and  m.an- 
ner  of  the  pedagogue  will  '  soften  the  heart 
of  that  cow,'  his  wife.  If  mouths  speak 
truth,  I  should  think  that  little  Mrs.  Bent 
could  get  very  angry  on  occasion." 

"  But  what  reason  has  she  for  being 
angry?  " 

"What  reason!  The  Dancing  Master 
in  himself  is  a  reason.  How  does  it  go? 
'  If  in  his  life  some  trivial  errors  fall.  Look 
in  his  face  and  you'll  believe  them  all.'  I 
am    prepared    to    credit    any    evil    of   The 


C04         Under  the  Deodars 

Dancing  ]\Iaster,  because  I  hate  him  so. 
And  The  Dowd  is  so  disgustingly  badly 
dressed  — " 

"  That  she,  too,  is  capable  of  every 
iniquity?  I  always  prefer  to  believe  the 
best  of  everybody.  It  saves  so  much 
trouble." 

"  Very  good.  I  prefer  to  believe  the 
w^orst.  It  saves  useless  expenditure  of 
sympathy.  And  you  may  be  quite  cer- 
tain that  the  Waddy  believes  with  me." 

Mrs.  IMallowe  sighed  and  made  no 
answer. 

The  conversation  was  holden  after  din- 
ner while  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  dressing  for 
a  dance. 

"  I  am  too  tired  to  go,"  pleaded  Mrs. 
Mallowe;  and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  left  her  in 
peace  till  two  in  the  morning,  when  she 
was  aware  of  emphatic  knocking  at  her 
door. 

"  Don't  be  very  angry,  dear,"  said  Mrs, 
Hauksbee.  ''  My  idiot  of  an  ayah  has 
gone  home,  and,  as  I  hope  to  sleep  to- 
night, there  isn't  a  soul  in  the  place  to 
unlace  me." 

''Oh,  this  is  too  bad!"  said  Mrs.  ]\Ial- 
lowe,  sulkily. 

"  Can't  help  it.  I'm  a  lone,  lorn  grass- 
widow,  but  I  will  not  sleep  in  my  stays. 
And  such  news,  too!  Oh,  do  unlace  me, 
there's      a      darling!      The     Dowd — The 


A  Second-Rate  Woman    105 

Dancing  Master  —  I  and  the  Hawley  Boy 
—     You  know  the  North  veranda?  " 

"  How  can  I  do  anything  if  you  spin 
round  Hke  this?"  protested  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
fumbHng  with  the  knot  of  the  lace. 

*'  Oh,  I  forget.  I  must  tell  my  tale 
without  the  aid  of  your  eyes.  Do  you 
know  you've  lovely  eyes,  dear?  Well,  to 
begin  with,  I  took  the  Hawley  Boy  to  a 
kala  juggah." 

"  Did  he  want  much  taking?  " 

"  Lots !  There  was  an  arrangement  of 
loose-boxes  in  kanats,  and  she  was  in  the 
next  one  talking  to  him." 

"Which?     How?     Explain." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean  —  The  Dowd 
and  The  Dancing  Master.  We  could  hear 
every  word,  and  we  listened  shamelessly  — 
'specially  the  Hawley  Boy.  Polly,  I  quite 
love  that  woman !  " 

"This  is  interesting.  There!  Now 
turn  round.     What  happened?" 

"One  moment.  Ah — h!  Blessed  re- 
lief. I've  been  looking  forward  to  taking 
them  off  for  the  last  half  hour  —  which  is 
ominous  at  my  time  of  life.  But,  as  I  was 
saying,  we  listened  and  heard  The  Dowd 
drawl  worse  than  ever.  She  drops  her  final 
g's  like  a  barmaid  or  a  blue-blooded  Aide- 
de-Camp.  '  Look  he'ere,  you're  gettin' 
too  fond  o'  me,'  she  said,  and  The  Danc- 
ing Master  owned  it  was  so  in  language 


io6         Under  the  Deodars 

that  nearly  made  me  ill.  The  Dowd  re- 
flected for  awhile.     Then  we  heard  her  say, 

*  Look  he'ere,  Mister  Bent,  why  are  yon 
such  an  aw-ful  liar? '  I  nearly  exploded 
while  The  Dancing  Master  denied  the 
charge.  It  seems  he  never  told  her  he  was 
a  married  man." 

"  I  said  he  wouldn't." 

**  And  she  had  taken  this  to  heart,  on 
personal  grounds,  I  suppose.  She  drawled 
along  for  five  minutes,  reproaching  him 
with  his  perfidy,  and  grew  quite  motherly. 

*  Now  you've  got  a  nice  little  wife  of  your 
own  —  you  have,'  she  said.  *  She's  ten 
times  too  good  for  a  fat  old  man  like  3^ou, 
and,  look  he'ere,  you  never  told  me  a  word 
about  her,  and  I've  been  thinkin'  about  it  a 
good  deal,  and  I  think  you're  a  liar/ 
Wasn't  that  delicious?  The  Dancing  Mas- 
ter maundered  and  raved  till  the  Hawley 
Boy  suggested  that  he  should  burst  in  and 
beat  him.  His  voice  runs  up  into  an  im- 
passioned squeak  when  he  is  afraid.  The 
Dowd  m.ust  be  an  extraordinary  woman. 
She  explained  that  had  he  been  a  bachelor 
she  might  not  have  objected  to  his  devo- 
tion; but  since  he  was  a  married  man  and 
the  father  of  a  very  nice  baby,  she  consid- 
ered him  a  hypocrite,  and  this  she  repeated 
twice.  She  wound  up  her  drawl  with: 
*An'  I'm  tellin'  you  this  because  your  wife 
is   angry   with   me,   an'   I   hate   quarrelin' 


A  Second-Rate  Woman    107 

with  any  other  woman,  an'  I  Hke  your  wife 
You  know  how  you  have  behaved  for  the 
last  six  weeks.  You  shouldn't  have  done 
it,  indeed  you  shouldn't.  You're  too  old 
an'  too  fat.'  Can't  you  imagine  how  The 
Dancing  Master  would  wince  at  that' 
*  Now  go  away,'  she  said.  '  I  don't  want 
to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you,  because 
I  think  you  are  not  nice.  I'll  stay  he'ere 
till  the  next  dance  begins.'  Did  you  think 
that  the  creature  had  so  much  in  her?  " 

"  I  never  studied  her  as  closely  as  you 
did.  It  sounds  unnatural.  What  hap- 
pened? " 

"  The  Dancing  Master  attempted  blan- 
dishment, reproof,  jocularity,  and  the  style 
of  the  Lord  High  Warden,  and  I  had 
almost  to  pinch  the  Hawley  Boy  to  make 
him  keep  quiet.  She  grunted  at  the  end 
of  each  sentence,  and,  in  the  end,  he  went 
away  swearing  to  himself,  quite  like  a  man 
in  a  novel.  He  looked  more  objectionable 
than  ever.  I  laughed.  I  love  that  v/oman 
■ — in  spite  of  her  clothes.  And  now  I'm 
going  to  bed.     What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  I  sha'n't  begin  to  think  till  the  morn- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  yawning.  "  Per- 
haps she  spoke  the  truth.  They  do  fly 
into  it  by  accident  sometimes." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  account  of  her  eaves- 
dropping was  an  ornate  one,  but  truthful  in 
the  main.     For  reasons  best  known  to  her- 


io8         Under  the  Deodars 

self,  Mrs.  "Shady"  Delville  had  turned 
upon  Mr.  Bent  and  rent  him  limb  from 
limb,  casting  him  away  limp  and  discon- 
certed ere  she  withdrew  the  light  of  her 
eyes  from  him  permanently.  Being  a  m.an 
of  resource,  and  anything  but  pleased  in 
that  he  had  been  called  both  old  and  fat, 
he  gave  Mrs.  Bent  to  understand  that  he 
had,  during  her  absence  in  the  Doon,  been 
the  victim  of  unceasing  persecution  at  the 
hands  of  ]\lrs.  Delville,  and  he  told  the  tale 
so  often  and  with  such  eloquence  that 
he  ended  in  believing  it,  while  his  wife  mar- 
veled at  the  manners  and  customs  of  "some 
women."  When  the  situation  showed 
signs  of  languishing,  ^Irs.  Waddy  w^as 
always  on  hand  to  wake  the  smoldering 
fires  of  suspicion  in  Mrs.  Bent's  bosom, 
and  to  contribute  generally  to  the  peace 
and  comfort  of  the  hotel.  Mr.  Bent's  life 
was  not  a  happy  one,  for  if  IMrs.  Waddy's 
story  were  true,  he  was,  argued  his  wife, 
untrustworthy  to  the  last  degree.  If  his 
own  statement  was  true,  his  charms  of 
manner  and  conversation  were  so  great 
that  he  needed  constant  surveillance.  And 
he  received  it,  till  he  repented  genuinely 
of  his  marriage  and  neglected  his  personal 
appearance.  Mrs.  Delville  alone  in  the 
hotel  was  unchanged.  She  removed  her 
chair  some  six  paces  toward  the  head  of 
the  table,  and  occasionally  in  the  twilight 


A  Second-Rate  Woman    109 

ventured  on  timid  overtures  of  friendship 
to  Mrs.  Bent,  which  were  repulsed. 

"She  does  it  for  my  sake,"  hinted  the 
virtuous  Bent. 

"A  dangerous  and  designing  woman," 
purred  Mrs.  Waddy. 

Worst  of  all,  every  other  hotel  in  Simla 
was  full! 


"Polly,  are  you  afraid  of  diphtheria?" 

"  Of  nothing  in  the  world  except  small- 
pox. Diphtheria  kills,  but  it  doesn't  dis- 
figure.    Why  do  you  ask?  " 

''  Because  the  Bent  baby  has  got  it,  and 
the  whole  hotel  is  upside  down  in  conse- 
quence. The  Waddy  has  '  set  her  five 
young  on  the  rail '  and  fled.  The  Dancing 
Master  fears  for  his  precious  throat,  and 
that  miserable  little  v/oman,  his  wife,  has 
no  notion  of  what  ought  to  be  done.  She 
wanted  to  put  it  into  a  mustard  bath  —  for 
croup! '" 

"Where  did  you  learn  all  this?" 

"Just  now,  on  the  Mall.  Dr.  Howlen 
told  me.  The  Manager  of  the  hotel  is 
abusing  the  Bents,  and  the  Bents  are  abus- 
ing the  [Manager.  They  are  a  feckless 
couple."  '     - /^  j:>^^  t- 

"Well.     What's   on   your¥iiM?ri*)r; 

"This;  and  I  know  it^s' ^ig-mw^fit^Siing. 
to  ask.     Would  you  serio^^l/^^l^t  t^m^f^ 


no         Under  the  Deodars 

bringing  the  child  over  here,  with  its 
mother?  " 

"  On  the  most  strict  understanding  that 
we  see  nothing  of  the  Dancing  Master." 

"  He  will  be  only  too  glad  to  stay  away. 
Polly,  you're  an  angel.  The  woman  really 
is  at  her  wits'  end." 

"  And  you  know  nothing  about  her,  care- 
less, and  would  hold  her  up  to  public  scorn 
if  it  gave  you  a  minute's  amusement. 
Therefore  you  risk  your  life  for  the  sake 
of  her  brat.  No,  Loo,  Pm  not  the  angel. 
I  shall  keep  to  my  rooms  and  avoid  her. 
But  do  as  you  please  —  only  tell  me  why 
you  do  it." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  eyes  softened;  she 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  back  into 
Mrs.  Alallowe's  face. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
simply. 

"  You  dear !  " 

''Polly!  —  and  for  aught  you  knew  you 
m.ight  have  taken  my  fringe  ofif.  Never 
do  that  again  without  warning.  Now  we'll 
get  the  rooms  ready.  I  don't  suppose  I 
shall  be  allowed  to  circulate  in  society  for 
c.  month." 

*''  And  I  also.  Thank  goodness  I  shall 
at  last  get  all  the  sleep  I  want." 

Much'  to  MrSi;  Bent's  surprise,  she  and 
the  baby  were  brought  over  to  the  house 
almost  before  she  knew  where  she  was* 


A  Second-Rate  Woman     1 1 1 

Bent  was  devoutly  and  undisguisedly 
thankful,  for  he  was  afraid  of  the  infection, 
and  also  hoped  that  a  few  weeks  in  the 
hotel  alone  with  Mrs.  Delville  might  lead 
to  some  sort  of  explanation. 

Mrs.  Bent  had  cast  her  jealousy  to  the 
winds  in  her  fear  for  her  child's  life. 

''  We  can  give  you  good  milk,"  said 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  her,  "  and  our  house  is 
much  nearer  to  the  Doctor's  than  the  hotel, 
and  you  v/on't  feel  as  though  you  were 
living  in  a  hostile  camp.  Where  is  the 
dear  Mrs.  Waddy?  She  seemed  to  be  a 
particular  friend  of  yours." 

*'  They've  all  left  me,"  said  Mrs.  Bent, 
bitterly.  ''  Mrs.  W^addy  went  first.  She 
said  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself  for 
introducing  diseases  there,  and  I  am  sure 
it  wasn't  my  fault  that  little  Dora  — " 

''How  nice!"  cooed  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
"  The  Waddy  is  an  infectious  disease  her- 
self — '  more  quickly  caught  than  the 
plague,  and  the  taker  runs  presently  mad.' 
I  lived  next  door  to  her  at  the  Elysium, 
three  years  ago.  Now,  see,  you  won't  give 
us  the  least  trouble,  and  I've  ornamented 
all  the  house  with  sheets  soaked  in  car- 
bolic. It  smells  comforting,  doesn't  it? 
Remember  I'm  always  in  call,  and  my 
ayah's  at  your  service  when  yours  goes  to 
her  meals,  and  .  .  .  and  ...  if 
you  cry  I'll  never  forgive  you." 


1 1 2         Under  the  Deodars 

Dora  Bent  occupied  her  mother's  un- 
profitable attention  through  the  day  and 
the  night.  The  Doctor  called  thrice  in  the 
twenty-four  hours,  and  the  house  reeked 
with  the  smell  of  the  Condy's  Fluid,  chlo- 
rine water,  and  carbolic  acid  washes.  Mrs. 
Mallowe  kept  to  her  own  rooms  —  she 
considered  that  she  had  miade  sufficient 
concessions  in  the  cause  of  humanity  — 
and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  more  esteemed  by 
the  Doctor  as  a  help  in  the  sick-room  than 
the  half-distraught  mother. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  illness,"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  to  the  Doctor.  "  Only  tell  me 
what  to  do,  and  I'll  do  it." 

'*  Keep  that  crazy  woman  from  kissing 
the  child,  and  let  her  have  as  little  to  do 
with  the  nursing  as  you  possibly  can,"  said 
the  Doctor;  "  I'd  turn  her  out  of  the  sick- 
room, but  that  I  honestly  believe  she'd  die 
of  anxiety.  She  is  less  than  no  good,  and 
I  depend  on  you  and  the  ayahs,  remember." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  accepted  the  responsibil- 
ity, even  though  it  painted  olive  hollows 
under  her  eyes  and  forced  her  into  her  old- 
est dresses.  Mrs.  Bent  clung  to  her  with 
more  than  child-like  faith. 

"  I  knozv  you'll  make  Dora  well  won't 
you?  "  she  said  at  least  tw^enty  times  a  day; 
and  twenty  times  a  day  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
answered  valiantly :    "  Of  course  I  will." 


A  Second-Rate  Woman    1 1 3 

But  Dora  did  not  improve,  and  the  Doc- 
tor seemed  to  be  always  in  the  house. 

'*  There's  some  danger  of  the  thing  tak- 
ing a  bad  turn,"  he  said;  "  I'll  come  over 
between  three  and  four  in  the  morning 
to-morrow." 

"Good  gracious!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
**  He  never  told  me  what  the  turn  would 
be!  My  education  has  been  horribly 
neglected;  and  I  have  only  this  foolish 
mother-woman  to  fall  back  upon." 

The  night  wore  through  slowly,  and 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  dozed  in  a  chair  by  the 
fire.  There  was  a  dance  at  the  Viceregal 
Lodge,  and  she  dreamed  of  it  till  she  was 
aware  of  Mrs.  Bent's  anxious  eyes  staring 
into  her  own. 

"Wake  up!  Wake  up!  Do  some- 
thing!" cried  Mrs.  Bent,  piteously. 
"  Dora's  choking  to  death!  Do  you  mean 
to  let  her  die? " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  jumped  to  her  feet  and 
bent  over  the  bed.  The  child  was  fighting 
for  breath,  while  the  mother  wrung  her 
hands  in  despair. 

"  Oh,  what  can  I  do?  What  can  I  do? 
She  won't  stay  still!  I  can't  hold  her. 
Why  didn't  the  Doctor  say  this  was  com- 
ing? "  screamed  Mrs.  Bent.  "  Wont  you 
help  me?     She's  dying!  " 

"I  —  I've  never  seen  a  child  die  before!  " 
stammered    Mrs.    Hauksbee,    feebly,    and 


114         Under  the  Deodars 

then  —  let  no  one  blame  her  weakness  after 
the  strain  of  long  watching  —  she  broke 
down,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
The  ayahs  on  the  threshold  snored 
peacefully. 

There  was  a  rattle  of  'rickshaw  wheels 
below,  the  clash  of  an  opening  door,  a 
heavy  step  on  the  stairs,  and  Mrs.  Delville 
entered  to  find  Mrs.  Bent  screaming  for 
the  Doctor  as  she  ran  round  the  room. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  her  hands  to  her  ears,  and 
her  face  buried  in  the  chintz  of  a  chair, 
was  quivering  with  pain  at  each  cry  from 
the  bed,  and  murmuring:  "Thank  God,  I 
never  bore  a  child!  Oh!  thank  God,  I 
never  bore  a  child!  " 

Mrs.  Delville  looked  at  the  bed  for  an 
instant,  took  Mrs.  Bent  by  the  shoulders, 
and  said  quietly:  "  Get  me  some  caustic. 
Be  quick." 

The  mother  obeyed  mechanically.  Mrs. 
Delville  had  thrown  herself  down  by  the 
side  of  the  child  and  was  opening  its 
mouth. 

*'  Oh,  you're  killing  her! "  cried  Mrs. 
Bent.  "  Where's  the  Doctor?  Leave  her 
alone!" 

Mrs.  Delville  made  no  reply  for  a  min- 
ute, but  busied  herself  with  the  child. 

"  Now  the  caustic,  and  hold  a  lamp  be- 
hind my  shoulder.     Will  you   do   as  you 


A  Second-Rate  Woman    1 1 5 

are   told?    The   acid-bottle,    if   you    don't 
know  what  I  mean,"  she  said. 

A  second  time  Mrs.  Delville  bent  over 
the  child.  Mrs.  Hanksbee,  her  face  still 
hidden,  sobbed  and  shivered.  One  of  the 
ayahs  staggered  sleepily  into  the  room, 
yawning:     "  Doctor  Sahib  hai." 

Mrs.  Delville  turned  her  head. 

"  You're  only  just  in  time,"  she  said. 
"  It  was  chokin'  her  when  I  came,  an'  I've 
burnt  it." 

"  There  was  no  sign  of  the  membrane 
getting  to  the  air-passages  after  the  last 
steaming.  It  was  the  general  weakness,  I 
feared,"  said  the  Doctor,  half  to  himself, 
and  he  whispered  as  he  looked :  "  You've 
done  what  I  should  have  been  afraid  to  do 
without  consultation." 

''  She  was  dyin',"  said  Mrs.  Delville,  un- 
der her  breath.  "Can  you  do  anythin'? 
What  a  mercy  it  was  I  went  to  the  dance!  " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  raised  her  head. 

"  Is  it  all  over?  "  she  gasped.  "  I'm  use- 
less. I'm  worse  than  useless!  What  are 
you  doing  here?  " 

She  stared  at  Mrs.  Delville,  and  Mrs. 
Bent,  realizing  for  the  first  time  who  was 
the  Goddess  from  the  Machine,  stared  also. 
Then  Mrs.  Delville  made  explanation, 
putting  on  a  dirty  long  glove  and  smooth- 
ing a  crumpled  and  ill-fitting  ball-dress. 
"  I  was  at  the  dance,  an'  the  Doctor  was 


1 16        Under  the  Deodars 

tellin*  me  about  your  baby  bein'  so  ill.  So 
I  came  away  early,  an'  your  door  was  open, 
an'  I  —  I  lost  my  boy  this  way  six  months 
ago,  an'  I've  been  tryin'  to  forget  it  ever 
since,  an'  I  —  I  —  I  am  very  sorry  for  in- 
trudin'  an'  anythin'  that  has  happened." 

]\lrs.  Bent  was  putting  out  the  Doctor's 
eye  with  a  lamp  as  he  stooped  over  Dora. 

"  Take  it  away,"  said  the  Doctor.  ''  I 
think  the  child  will  do,  thanks  to  you,  Mrs. 
Delville.  /  should  have  come  too  late,  but, 
I  assure  you  " —  he  was  addressing  himself 
to  Mrs.  Delville  — "  I  had  not  the  faintest 
reason  to  expect  this.  The  membrane  must 
have  grown  like  a  mushroom.  Will  one  of 
you  ladies  help  me,  please?" 

He  had  reason  for  his  concluding  sen- 
tence. Mrs.  Hauksbee  had  thrown  herself 
into  Mrs.  Delville's  arms,  where  she  was 
weeping  copiously,  and  Mrs.  Bent  was  un- 
picturesquely  mixed  up  with  both,  while 
from  the  triple  tangle  came  the  sound  of 
many  sobs  and  much  promiscuous  kissing. 

"Good  gracious!  I've  spoiled  all  your 
beautiful  roses!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  lift- 
ing her  head  from  the  lump  of  crushed  gum 
and  calico  atrocities  on  Mrs.  Delville's 
shoulder  and  hurrying  to  the  Doctor. 

Airs.  Delville  picked  up  her  shawl,  and 
slouched  out  of  the  room,  mopping  her 
eyes  with  the  glove  that  she  had  not  put  on. 

"  I   always   said   she   was   more   than   a 


A  Second-Rate  Woman    1 17 

woman,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  hysteri- 
cally, "and  that  proves  it!" 

****** 

Six  weeks  later,  Mrs.  Bent  and  Dora  had 
returned  to  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  had 
come  out  of  the  Valley  of  Humiliation, 
had  ceased  to  reproach  herself  for  her  col- 
lapse in  an  hour  of  bitter  need,  and  was 
even  beginning  to  direct  the  afifairs  of  the 
world  as  before. 

''  So  nobody  died,  and  everything  wxnt 
off  as  it  should,  and  I  kissed  The  Dowd. 
Polly,  I  feel  so  old.  Does  it  show  in  my 
face?" 

"Kisses  don't,  as  a  rule,  do  they?  Of 
course  you  know  what  the  result  of  The 
Dowd's  providential  arrival  has  been." 

"  They  ought  to  build  her  a  statue  — 
only  no  sculptor  dare  reproduce  those 
skirts." 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  quietly. 
"  She  has  found  another  reward.  The 
Dancing  Master  has  been  smirking 
through  Simla,  giving  every  one  to  under- 
stand that  she  came  because  of  her  undy- 
ing love  for  him  —  for  him  —  to  save  his 
child,  and  all  Simla  naturally  believes  this." 

"But  Mrs.  Bent " 

"  Mrs.  Bent  believes  it  more  than  any 
one  else.     She  won't  speak  to  The  Dowd 


1 1 8        Under  the  Deodars 

now.  Isn't  The  Dancing  Master  an 
angel?" 

Sirs.  Hauksbee  lifted  up  her  voice  and 
raged  till  bedtime.  The  doors  of  the  two 
rooms  stood  open. 

''  Polly,"  said  a  voice  from  the  darkness, 
"  what  did  that  American-heiress-globe- 
trotter girl  say  last  season  when  she  was 
tipped  out  of  her  'rickshaw  turning  a  cor- 
ner? Some  absurd  adjective  that  made  the 
man  who  picked  her  up  explode." 

"'Paltry/"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe. 
"  Through  her  nose  —  Hke  this  — '  Ha-ow 
pahltry!'" 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  voice.  "  Ha-ow 
pahltry  it  all  is!" 

"Which?" 

"  Everything.  Babies,  Diphtheria,  Mrs. 
Bent  and  the  Dancing  ^Master,  I  whooping 
in  a  chair,  and  The  Dowd  dropping  in  from 
the  clouds.  I  wonder  what  the  motive  was 
—  all  the  motives." 

"Um!" 

"What  do  you  think?" 

**  Don't  ask  me.  She  was  a  woman.  Go 
to  sleep." 


THE  END. 


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